The City In Which I Never Slept
by MONANIK
Summary: "So, you mean to tell me that there's no one to pick you up?" He looked at her in disbelief. The madness of letting a little girl like Raven walk home alone this late Lance thought to be completely absurd. He couldn't believe his ears." Or Keith is a very caring older brother who works too much and Lance happens to meet him at the wrong time in the wrong outfit...
1. Chapter 1 - Gag Jacket

_**I don't want love to destroy me like it has done my family.**_

 _ **Can we work it out? Can we be a family?  
I promise I'll be better.**_

"So, you mean to tell me that there's no one to pick you up?" He looked at her in disbelief. The madness of letting a little girl walk home alone this late Lance thought completely absurd. He couldn't believe his ears.

"Yeah."

"But, there's gotta be _someone_ who takes care of you?" he tried asking, but she just shrugged and continued tying her shoes. Just as Lance thought he'd been ignored, Raven spoke.

"I live with my older brother, but he's working so I have to go alone." She finally glanced up at Lance, briefly, genuinely unfazed by the situation. _What seven-year-old behaves like this?_

"But it's fine," she continued, unbothered, "Big bro taught me how to walk home on my own." she smiled hesitantly and got up from the floor where she sat. Lance just stared, dumbfounded. She has a brother? Where is he _now_ , then? What kind of brother is he!?

Lance sighed. He decided right then and there what must be done, and as much as he disliked his own idea, the situation called for it.

"I'll drive you home." he blurted out.

"You don't have to, I'll be OK."

He sighed and grabbed his jacket from the hook on which it hung by the front entrance. The same green, worn jacket that he's had for years now. His mother keeps ushering him to buy a new one, but each time he refuses her offers and pleadings. There's just _something_ about that ugly, vomit-colored jacket that he loves so much.

" _Of course_ I have to, I can't let a little girl walk through the streets of Manhattan this late by herself. And besides, it'll be much quicker with my car." he patted her head and proceeded with putting on his plain, white sneakers. Most certainly not the nicest outfit he owns, but he figured that it wasn't important. His stupid, cringe-inducing, marvel T-shirt, vomit-jacket and worn jeans will do for now. After all, he'll just drop her off at her place and then leave. If he's lucky he might not even need to exit the car!

"Ma! **I'm gonna drop off Raven, Veronica is coming with me!** "

Raven frowned and crossed her skinny arms over her chest, but he didn't resist his offer. His sister tagged along and the two of them sat down in the backseat of his old Audi.

Out of the four of them, Lance held the title of older brother. Oldest, to be exact. After him came Marco, then Luis and last his little sister, Veronica –who's only seven. She met Raven her first day of elementary.

Veronica Lance liked to describe as a bright kid who loves attention. For this reason, any concerns Lance might hold— of her not making friends, or similar— were non-existent. Although, he never envisioned the _type_ of friends Veronica would make. Three days after the beginning of her first term, she came home with a little girl her age by her side. Her pitch-black hair came down past her lithe, pale shoulders. The bangs masked her eyes, although Lance discovered from the short moment those eyes met his that they were a deep, mesmerizing, violet. Her name was Raven, his sister informed him, and she and Veronica had now become friends. Her beauty was unmistakable— Lance thought— with her big, violet eyes and soft, flushed cheeks. Still, something about her rubbed him the wrong way; her paleness and that dark, mess of hair on her head. Overall, she reminded Lance of a porcelain doll – too perfect. It didn't help that she spoke like a twelve-year-old either, as if she had been forced to grow up way too early.

But she grew on him, and after a few weeks he caught himself smiling over Raven's and Veronica's distant chuckling. Raven made Veronica happy and she always brought a smile to his sister's face. Lance intended to show his gratitude someday, somehow.

The fact that they were getting along well warmed his heart and as time went on the two girls got closer. Raven began staying at their place for longer and longer— and although Lance had nothing against it— he always found it strange how no one ever came to pick her up. A little child, barely seven, and yet she walked home on her own every day. Either she's been taught how to, or there is no other choice for her.

Whatever the circumstances are, unfortunate or otherwise, Lance didn't consider it something he should meddle with. At least that's what he _thought,_ until today. With seven-o-clock fast approaching, her walking home alone in no way screamed safety to Lance. The thought alone— of all the possible horror scenarios that might potentially occur if she's left unguarded— made his skin crawl. His vivid imagining only got him so far, though. Then there was that very specific, disgusting breed of people slithering around Manhattan at this hour that certainly wouldn't miss digging a gold-mine like Raven. As much as he hates to admit it, she's a beautiful little girl and there's all kinds of sickos out there. What's worse: they'd glory in attacking an innocent little kid. He himself was granted the horrific opportunity of experiencing the scums of Manhattan up close and personal on the first day he moved to New York city. He stood waiting for his buss home to arrive after a long first day of college and found himself cornered by a group of creeps. The likes of which are overdramatized in old, cheesy, American high-school movies. _You know the trope._

Lance refused to allow anything of the sort to happen to Raven. She managed to become more than just Veronica's friend; Raven put a smile on Vic's lips every time she came over and Lance remained forever thankful for that.

All Raven told him ended being the street on which they lived on, not much more. She told him that she walked home every day and so she's clueless as to how to get there by other means. Lance drove along the same street for what felt like hours, cluelessly albeit stubbornly trying his hardest to find Raven's apartment. Raven tried helping as much as possible, but it didn't aid much–Lance couldn't blame her. It still took them what felt like freaking _centuries_ to find her place.

He parked the car right outside Raven's apartment complex and decided to at least check who her caretaker is— this so-called _brother_ whom she speaks so fondly of ( _no, he's not jealous_ ). Raven mentioned something about how she never really knew her parents, which Lance suspected meant they're deceased, or at least that's what Lance got from their earlier conversation. She of course mentioned an older brother, too. Multiple times, actually. From that information alone, plus what he knows about her, it's safe to say that the image of her brother in Lance's mind was one not worthy of a parade. Lance's initial tough led to the unfortunate, sad summary of a lazy, presumably drug-addicted dude who's either neglecting her entirely or is abusive to some extent.

The entire complex stank of neglect and years of mold, uncleaned vomit and God-knows-what. It was utterly run down and ruined from years— no, decades— of crazy residents and appalling accidents. _That_ conclusion he made judging by the distant shrieking and wailing coming from one of the apartments, and the foul smell which attacked his senses the moment he stepped foot inside the complex. They took the shabby, old elevator— which suggests it might break down any second— to the 12th floor. Raven appeared casual about the whole situation, not even slightly fazed by the odor, or the abnormality of it all in general. _Still too young to notice or care about those things?_ Possibly. Or maybe Raven has simply adjusted to these conditions…

Once they were out of the claustrophobia-inducing elevator, he and Veronica followed Raven to the door at the end of the hallway. The dark wood of the once-varnished door told stories of feisty animals and clumsy grocery-carriers— its bumps and scratches revealing its age. To Lance's surprise, someone at least attempted to decorate the ugly thing, the entrance in general. Unlike the other doors, this one had a welcome matt in front of it as well as an old Christmas decoration hanging from a hook on the door. Not the best decorating, but he appreciated that effort was put forth.

Raven rang the doorbell and Lance –with Veronica by his side— stood behind her stiffly, suddenly hyper-aware of his unwelcome presence, his hands awkwardly shoved down his pockets. Lance noticed a new-formed hole (So _that's_ where his coins went!). He had no idea what to expect anymore.

There wasn't much time to consider a pose that looked less awkward, for the next moment the heavy door swung open, and Lance might as well had been whiplashed right then and there because it sure felt like a direct blow to his chest when he took in the sight in front of him. Rather than "a sight", Lance would describe it as an experience, an epiphany.

"Raven? What took you so long?" the man at the door asked, surprised by the two strangers standing behind Raven.

Lance shivered at the hoarse, dark voice that left the guy's lips and drooled over what he was seeing. His skin: just as pale and spotless, and his eyes: a deep, violet color like Raven's. Lance noticed the contrasting spots which covered his body: beauty marks. The hair on his head was so pitch black that if it weren't for its shine, Lance might have confused it for a void, and – _is that a mullet?_

The stranger at the door sported skin-tight, black jeans and a black T-shirt which clung to his chest and shoulders and left little to the imagination. He wasn't buff or anything, but Lance could tell that the guy works out. The stretched fabric and the strong, toned arms spoke for themselves.

"I'm sorry but Lance said he couldn't let me walk home by myself." Raven answered in monotone and pointed back at Lance as she did, who cursed her for not giving him time to compose himself. The guy looked up from Raven and his mesmerizing, sunset-painted gaze met Lance's.

"I take it you're Lance?"

He stretched out his right hand towards Lance and it took Lance a moment to figure out that the dude was trying to be polite. He nervously reached for the outstretched hand that had been offered to him and shook it just _a tad bit_ too eagerly. The guy barely flinched.

"Uh, y-yeah. That's me!" he stammered and then resorted to winking nervously at the confused stranger in front of him. Lance could feel the heat rising in his face and neck and prayed that his dark complexion hid whatever catastrophe was currently taking effect on his face. He tried for a smirk, but it probably came out more like a grimace. _Screw you and your godly genetics_ , Lance cursed the guy in his head. _Seriously, who made these two?_

"Cool, thanks for droppin' her off. 'm Keith, Raven's brother." Keith smiled, and Lance's stomach flipped. He cursed himself for not wearing something nicer the _one time_ he would meet the most gorgeous being in the universe. Lance usually _never_ went _anywhere_ without looking his goddamned best, but today of all days he decided to ignore performing his typical routine of double checking and refining.

"Nice to meet you, Keith." This time he at least managed to smile back. _Score!_

Keith chuckled weakly at his awkwardness and Lance couldn't help but notice how genuinely tired he looked. The dark circles under his eyes told Lance the ugly truth of just how unwelcome the visit was. It didn't seem like the guy's been getting much sleep lately. Not to mention, if you ask Lance, skinny jeans are definitely not something people typically wear casually around the house. He must have gotten off work recently. Lance wondered what kind of job this guy had. His first guess would be modelling, _considering…_

"Wanna come in?" he suddenly asked, and only then did Lance realize that neither Veronica nor Raven were anywhere to be seen.

"They went inside to play." Keith said, as if having read his mind.

Lance gulped as discreetly as possible and accepted Keith's half-hearted offer. _It wouldn't hurt to see what Raven's situation was like at home_ , he lied to himself. However, he refused to carry the title of a 'major bother' either.

"Are you sure? You must be tired, we don't wanna be a bother or anything—"

"It's alright." Keith cut off, "I don't mind, I've still got time before I need to head off to work, and besides," He turned towards the apartment where faint giggling could be heard, "They seem to be having fun."

Keith smiled at him again. Out of politeness, Lance assumed. Keith didn't give off particularly friendly or outgoing vibes. A frown was plastered on that pretty face of his as if part of his being. Lance appreciated the gesture either way and stepped inside.

Their apartment seemed almost just as run-down as the rest of the complex. Lance, yet again, noticed how some effort had been put forth to make the place seem more livable. Although by the looks of it, Lance though it relatively neglected. Not cared for enough.

"Hey, man. Do you mind me asking where you work?"

Keith stilled at the sudden question. He turned towards Lance and looked somewhere between offended and amused. He laughed and crossed his arms, _which, by the way, should be illegal_.

"I work as both a bartender and a waiter in two separate places." he said, "Why are you asking? Is it really that bad? I don't have much time for decorating the place or even cleaning, so it is what it is." Keith's frown deepened. Lance could almost _see_ the cogs turning in his brain.

He eyed him in disbelief. Two jobs at once? Meaning… he works all day and night? He regretted ever asking anything. It just seemed so rude now.

"I'm sorry, didn't mean to—" he tried apologizing, but Keith cut him off, "It's OK, I don't blame you." he laughed once more and then walked into the kitchen.

Lance followed suit, careful not to ask something offensive again. He was aware of his big mouth and his tendencies to say whatever occupied his mind in the moment, _not the best for hitting on hot older brothers_.

Lance noticed how the apartment was full of things. Posters and paintings decorated the walls, and shelves were packed with dusty books, dead plants and other nick-nacks. He picked up a small lion figurine from one of the shelves in the kitchen and studied it closer. It was golden and decorated with colorful crystals. Despite its appearance, Lance knew its cost hadn't been big, considering how light-weight it felt. Lance put it back on the shelf and studied the rest of the apartment.

It was small and there wasn't much space to move. The kitchen area and the living room were separated by a half-wall and some counters. The kitchen itself was crammed, consisting only of a few counters, a stove, fridge and a small table by the window on the right side. Their living room was to the left of the kitchen and only slightly bigger. Big enough to fit a regular-sized TV, a sofa and a bunch of sacks and pillows. The hallway Lance was currently standing in lead to what looked like two separate bedrooms, a storage and a bathroom. Overall, the place was in short –tiny. It looked generally unlived in, so Lance assumed Keith and Raven lived alone in this shack of an apartment. If it weren't for the excessive hoarding and the dust covering everything with a thick layer, this place might be relatively nice to live in. Lance's love for smaller apartments was undeniable, probably because his were always too big.

"I've heard a lot about you from Raven. You're not from here, right?"

The question snapped Lance out of his own thoughts. Keith had his back turned to him and was pouring them something to drink. _What a lovely sight, that shirt definitely left little to the imagination_ , Lance embarrassingly thought, blushing over his own lustful thinking.

"Aw, she mentioned me? Well, I hope she told you good things. I'm usually not this awkward, just a long day." he answered and leaned against one of the counters as casually as possible, opposite of where Keith was standing. Lance continued, "And yes, I'm not from here. My family is originally from Cuba, so we speak Spanish at home." he added confidently, smirking ad expecting the same stars truck reaction he always gets…but…

Keith snorted. _Snorted!_

"Cuba? Cool, but I meant that you're not from New York."

 _Oh._

"W-well… no. I'm originally from Utah." he explained, deflated and embarrassed. _Dammit! That always works!_

"Cool." was all Keith had to say, to Lance's utter disappointment. He turned around and handed Lance a glass of juice. _Juice?_

"Sorry, I haven't had time to go shopping yet." Keith quickly explained. Lance swore at this point that that the guy reads thoughts.

He took the glass Keith offered and studied him closer. He noticed how Keith's hands had been marked with scratches and bruises, big and ugly. These were the hands of someone who gets into a lot of fights. Keith's arms were generally very bruised and scratched up. The guy sported a big, blue bruise on the right side of his jaw that Lance hadn't noticed before. Lance decided not to bring it up.

"It's alright, I love juice!"

Keith scoffed and raised a brow.

"Are you joking?"

"What? I'm serious! Don't mock me!"

"I appreciate your kindness, but you don't have to lie to me." he said and looked over to where Veronica and Raven were playing on the floor. Lance caught a glimpse of something dark, unreadable in those violet sunsets, but just as quickly as it appeared it vanished. Keith covered it by smiling faintly before returning to the comfort of his ever-present frown.

Lance felt himself getting more irritated by the second. This guy was really something else. _Who points out something like that? And besides, how dare he imply that Lance just lied about orange juice!_

"So, are you a college student?" Keith asked, changing the topic, "You don't seem like someone who'd be working."

Lance flinched at the snarky remark.

"Yes, I am and for your information I _am_ working."

Lance spoke the truth, however he decided to skip the detail of how he only worked once a week at a local McDonald's. Compared to Keith's inhumane hours, it seemed pathetic, _like usual_.

 _No, stop._

Keith chuckled at Lance's irritation and the whole thing just made Lance's blood boil. No matter how gorgeous the guy happened to be, _and oh my God his laugh could melt ice_ , Lance deserves a better attitude considering how he willingly protected Raven when he didn't! Just as Lance was about to announce his and Vic's leaving, Keith spoke up.

"Sorry, don't get offended." he took a sip of his juice before continuing, "You're just very high maintenance and all so I figured that you're probably not working fourteen hours a day like me."

Lance narrowed his eyes in suspicion, ignoring the 'fourteen hours' confession.

"Did you just compliment me on my appearance?"

"Maybe."

He gulped down the rest of his drink and Lance watched as his Adam's apple bobbed. To say the least, he managed to leave Lance speechless one again. He was suddenly hyper aware of the warmth in his cheeks for what felt like the millionth time that day.

He sighed and decided he might as well ask some questions himself, partially to rid himself of the awkward all-around-the-clock-blush.

"Well, why are you working fourteen hours a day, then?" he asked, genuinely curious. Lance hoped to God that this sounded less offensive.

"How else am I supposed to raise Raven?" Keith answered.

Lance could tell from the start that Raven's parents weren't in the picture, but Keith's sudden change in posture made it all seem so much worse, so much realer. He feared the direction in which this conversation had gone.

"You're raising Raven all on your own…? How old are you?" he asked, hesitantly.

"I'm 21."

Lance felt his blood run cold. Twenty-one years old and he works fourteen hours daily _and_ he's raising a child on his own? He felt bad for the guy, but also felt himself getting more and more intrigued. He had to ask. _Don't ask that, you idiot._

"Can't your girlfriend or someone help you out?"

 _Good job, dumbass._

"What are you talking about? I'm single, there's no one to help me."

Lance bit his lower lip, trying to keep his excitement over the new-found information down but failing miserably, judging by Keith's confused expression. Lance reminded himself to be supportive and for a second _not fanboy_ over Keith's singleness. That's when Lance decided to just _go for it_. It stuck to the back of his head the moment Raven told him about Keith and refused to leave his thoughts since.

"But, what about your parents then?"

Keith lowered his gaze and Lance regretted ever asking anything, despite its importance.

"They died four years ago."


	2. Chapter 2 - Dung Scarf

He watched as Lance's mouth opened and closed, like a fish in a tank; no means of escaping. Despite the heaviness that lay atop, and the awkward silence that enveloped the room, Keith found himself sighing at Lance's sudden guilt-ridden expression. He knew Lance wasn't to blame for what happened years ago.

"It's OK, though." he breathed in through his nose, "Raven was just a kid back when it happened, she doesn't remember anything."

Keith watched as Lance let out a sigh of relief, yet his expression didn't waver. The same look of indiscretion lingered on his features.

"I—" he stammered, "I didn't mean to—"

"Lance." Keith cut in, "I don't want to hear it, OK? I told you: _it's fine_."

He appeared to relax somewhat at Keith's reassurance, but the guilt lingered. Why Lance insisted on faulting himself for this, Keith would never understand. To be fair, he's never met a person this expressive before. Or rather than him being expressive, Keith felt as though Lance's guilt-ridden expression simply carried something more than just guilt. Not pity, no. Something else entirely unfamiliar to Keith.

He shrugged and stretched his arms over his head. The action didn't go unnoticed by Lance who quickly averted his gaze, ears flushed a crimson shade. You'd think that his dark complexion would hide such reactions.

"It's getting late…" he suddenly spluttered out, embarrassed, "It's _way_ past Vic's bed time and—"

"Vic's?" he questioned, puzzled.

Lance paused.

"Yes… as in Veronica…"

Keith mentally slapped himself. _Of course, duh._

"Sorry, sorry!" Lance laughed, the crimson flush long forgotten yet still lingering stubbornly.

Keith sighed, "Alright, thank you for bringing her here." he said, and meant it.

Ever since their parents' death, Keith took it upon himself to raise Raven on his own. At first it was a struggle. Simply too young to raise a child he, turned to the one person whom he knew could help them: Shiro. Keith and Shiro have known each other for ages, since childhood, and they've grown fond of each other over the years. Keith considers him someone whom he can trust in one hundred percent. A role model, a brother and best friend all in one. Not that it ends there, but Keith gladly refrains from mentioning those… _questioning…_ few months after his parents' passing.

Shiro took it upon himself to help both Raven and Keith build enough strength and knowledge to venture out into the real world and fight for themselves, something Keith was thankful for. Despite Shiro's sometimes overprotective tendencies, at his heart he wished for nothing else other than for Keith and his sister to find happiness. He wished for them to settle down and live their own lives. Keith loved him endlessly for that.

So, naturally, Keith was forced to teach both himself and Raven the basics of survival. What to do if you're attacked and how to find your way home from any point in the city, were two out of many things on his list of necessities. Which is why Raven is now possessing a perfect understanding of her surroundings— or at least the crucial parts of it. How to get to and from school, for example.

Despite everything which Keith had managed to teach her, she remained nothing but a young child; open and vulnerable to attacks and accidents. Sure, he tried his best on his part. Keith drives her to school as often as he can, teaches her how to protect herself in worst case scenarios, and has somehow managed to explain the importance of not trusting strangers— a big feat, honestly. He even went as far as to dress her typically more boy-ish for her own safety. After all, if anyone at first glance assumes her to be a _he_ they'd be less likely to attack… right?

At least he hoped so.

Yet he still worries, especially today. Before the doorbell rang, Keith already stood in the hallway, phone in hand and ready to call her on that crappy flip-phone he gave her years ago, his throat dry and his chest heavy.

"No need to thank me!"

Lance's words brought him out of his trance.

"Anytime." he said and winked at Keith.

Just as he was about to slam the door shut behind the ecstatic newcomer, Keith realized something, "Wait!"

Lance turned around, surprised. The words caught in his throat, how do you ask a stranger for their number without sounding suspicious or downright desperate?

But before Keith's words had even formed in his mouth, Lance lit up, "Oh, right!"

With cheeks dusted pink, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, screen cracked, a turquoise case with palm trees… _are you kidding me?_

"Uh…"

Lance's face erupted at Keith's hesitation. He spluttered, "Not like _that!_ It's for in case something like this happens again…!"

His hands were shaking. _Cute_.

"You know, it wasn't easy finding your place. Took me forever!" he paused and glanced up at Keith briefly, all his previous confidence gone with the wind, "So, just in case I need to reach you again…" he trailed off.

Keith took the phone offered to him and smirked at Lance's sudden, involuntary flinching. _This guy claims that he's normally some kind of Casanova?_ Keith chuckled and quickly typed in his phone number, amused by the fumbling Cuban boy in front of him.

The redness faded from Lance's features and he retrieved his phone. Embarrassed by the awkwardness, he turned to walk away. Leaving Keith with nothing more than a quick wave in his direction and a discreet 'see ya'. Veronica turned and waved at Raven and Keith, a smile spread wide across her face. She looked so much like Lance: same sun kissed skin and big, blue eyes. Although, Veronica's hair was curly; unlike Lance's soft, straight strands. _As straight as his hair is, it doesn't hide that not-so-straight behavior._

Every day is a struggle, really. Not to say that they have no roof over their heads or that they're unfit health-wise, but their financial stability is everything _but_ a stability. That— coupled with the fact that Keith barely manages to find time for Raven— leaves him restless, anxious and depressed. Nothing on this planet would glad him more than to find some time for just the two of them. Keith is aware of how much Raven wishes to be part of a proper family, it's undeniable, and yet there's only so much he can do to fix that.

He works eleven hours a day, meaning he has little free time to spare. Every morning he wakes up at six, makes breakfast for Raven and him, and is out of the house with Raven by seven-thirty. Once Raven has been dropped off at school, he heads to work at _Al Téa_ — a restaurant newly opened and located in downtown Manhattan. It's not far from where he lives, and he manages to get there barely on time every day with the help of his bike. Lunch is around 1PM and it usually leaves Keith two hours to eat and practice with Shiro before he must go back to work for another two hours. Once work is over its back home to Raven to make her something to eat, and then back to work again once Raven is back in Shiro's care around 7PM. From 8PM till 1AM the next morning, he works at night-club _Marmora_ , which leaves him roughly five hours of sleep before the cycle is restarted.

Simply put: Keith is exhausted. As much as he loves Raven, Keith wishes sometimes more time was available for him to enjoy the things he loves. Like reading or art or training with Shiro. Those are all activities which he enjoys, deeply, but fails to partake in. Obviously, side effects have surfaced from the lack of enjoyment he once experienced in life. More often than not he finds himself awake for hours after returning home, unable to fall asleep because _he knows_ what tomorrow awaits.

It hurt Raven as much as it hurt him, and he hated himself for that.

"Raven, c'mon!"

A muffled answer came from one of the rooms down the hallway.

"Honestly, Rave, I don't have time for this! Let's go!" he barked, irritation evident in his tone.

Just as he was about to make a B-line for her room, Raven ran out into the hallway, a glitter-soaked paper in hand.

"For Christ's sake, what took you so lo—" he stopped, swallowing down a laugh, "Is- is that Shiro…?" he asked and pointed at the crudely draw balloon-humanoid on the paper.

No doubt Shiro. Keith could tell from the way in which she tried to draw Shiro's buff figure. He turned out looking like one of those balloon animals you get from clowns at circuses. The iconic black tank-top and black joggers were both there, together with Shiro's white tuff of hair and prosthetic right arm— which looked more like a misshaped noodle with screws and bolts in it. To top off the masterpiece, Raven had decided to humor Keith (albeit unconsciously) by smearing on layers and layers of bright pink glitter. _You can clearly tell that her brother is an artist, huh?_

"It is! What do you think, do you think he will like it?" she asked, bouncing on her heels, excited as always.

Her violet eyes were locked on his, awaiting his reply eagerly. Keith choked, his body shook from the struggle of keeping his laughter down. _Everything is funnier when it's not supposed to be funny—_

"S-sure! Yeah! It looks amazing, Rave!" he exclaimed stuttering, over-dramatizing his reaction for her sake.

Raven practically shone with pride.

"Alright," he said, the laughter in his chest finally dying down, "Shiro is waiting for you."

At this, Raven's expression dropped, and a frown overtook her features. Keith resented how her entire demeanor diminished, a tightness squeezing his heart and lungs. It hurts, but what must be done must be done.

They walked out of the apartment, hand in hand, and over to the one opposite of theirs. Luckily, Shiro lives right next door, so dropping Raven off at his place is a simple task.

Keith rings the doorbell twice (an indication) and after a brief moment of thumping and muffled swearing, the door opens and Shiro sticks out his head, his white tuff atop bouncing with the movement. His hand gripped his foot tightly.

At the sight of him and Raven his face lights up and a bright smile spreads across his face, his pinkie long forgotten.

"Rave!" he squeals, picking her up effortlessly and bouncing her in the air a few times before holding her firmly against his broad chest. When holding Raven, he appears even bigger than what he normally is. _Honestly, Keith felt jealous_. _Always has been._

"I drew you a picture!" she gushed, shoving said masterpiece in Shiro's face for his viewing pleasure.

Shiro took the drawing and examined it, feigning excitement while Keith tried his best not cry. He shot Keith the stink eye before turning towards Raven, smiling as brightly as the sun itself. _You big, massive, huge, liar!_

"Is this for me? Thank you, Rave, I love it!" he proclaimed, rubbing her head as she giggled happily.

 _What a sight. A shame, really. He would make such a great da—_

"Heading off to work?"

"Yeah…" Keith sighed, a little flustered, "Thanks."

"For what now?" Shiro asked, laughing gently.

"Well—"

"Keith, please." he paused, kissing Raven on her forehead, "There's nothing I wouldn't do for the two of you and you know that."

Keith smiled and Shiro returned the gesture, fondness flooding his gentle features. The scar across his nose crinkled with the lines in the corners of his eyes. With the white hair and Raven in his arms he seemed much older than what he truly is. _The trauma must have messed him up thoroughly_. Keith glanced down at Shiro's prosthetic, the tightness in his chest returning at the sight. Shiro didn't notice.

"Alright then, I'll be off…" a pause, silence, "Make sure to call—"

"If anything happens, I know."

He put down Raven and pulled Keith into a tight hug, patting his back reassuringly. Once he let go, Raven tugged at Keith's jacket. He bent down and kissed her forehead gently, lovingly.

She smiled and waved at him as he walked away, partially hidden by Shiro's legs. Keith remained paralyzed to the pain which enveloped him at the sight.

Raven turned and walked in to the apartment and Shiro closed the door behind her. Keith heard her faint giggling and Shiro's muffled voice from inside.

 _Back to work it is._

 _The monitor beeped loudly, piercing his scull with each beep as thought someone stood picking his brain with pins and needles._

 _Beep, beep, beep._

 _He lifted his head to the figure laid before him, frail and pale, ghostly. Dying. A corpse. But he took her hand in his anyway— feeling its cold, lifeless dampness. The only indication of life which remained was the quivering of her hand in his. It's paleness so profound that each vein inside was now in clear sight, a dulled blue against the translucent, milky white of her skin._

 _Beep, beep, beep._

 _The same skin which once held all the warmth of the sun._

 _He breathed in through his nose and as he did the stench of rotten flowers and a dying body hit his senses, frightening and unbearable, colliding with his thundering heartbeat and almost knocking him out of breath. A single tear rolled down his cheek and fell onto the skin of her hand. As he looked down to where the tear had fallen, his heart stopped in his chest. Blood ran cold as ice through his veins, paralyzing him. His own hands began to shake at the realization, something crucial: the beeping, it was gone._

 _Why had it stopped?_

 _With his breath stuck in his throat, and eyes which burned from exhaustion and those damn tears, he dared to lift his head, but the sight before his sore eyes did little to soothe the clawing agony in his chest._

 _A bottomless blue surrounded him, enveloped him and swallowed him hole. Like a vicious ocean; cold and unforgiving, a force of nature. It bore through his skin like the blades of a butcher, leaving lethal scars incapable of healing._

 _Her eyes were locked on his, purple beyond words and as gentle as the tip of a feather. Those once mesmerizing violets had dulled, and all that was left staring back at him were a pair of dimmed, lifeless orbs._

 _He suffocated._

Keith woke with a start, sweat drops the size of bullets running down his back. His lungs felt sore and heavy, as though something sat stubbornly on his chest. He looked around, eyes wide in shock, but fell back into his seat once he realized his surroundings.

He had fallen asleep on the subway. Great.

He mumbled an apology to the old lady sitting next to him and leaned his head towards the cold, shuddering window to his right. The cold surface soothed both his nerves and his buzzing heartbeat.

 _Why now?_

Keith pulled out his phone in frustration, choosing to avoid the baffled, confused stares of the surrounding passengers. _Had he been sleep talking, perhaps?_

Checking the time: 7:42PM.

Approaching the Marmora night club, his earlier discomfort faded at the familiar neon sign. Simple, classy calligraphy, a sword which pierced through its middle and the humming violet colors which coated the street in spasms of lavender, resulted in a glamorous yet totally rad logo— which quite frankly fit the place well. Keith took a deep breath, preparing himself for what's to come, before entering through the tinted glass-doors.

He was immediately met with Lotor's intense, coral gaze. As a deer in headlights, Keith stood still in place. Lotor strode towards him. _Was he angry? But he wasn't late or anything…_

"Wipe it off."

"Which—"

"No, not _which— what_." he said, pointing a finger in Keith's face.

Keith stared, irritation boiling low in his gut.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" he asked, baffled, and locked his gaze into Lotor's offending blue.

His boss just sighed and threw the rag which he held over his left shoulder. Despite Lotor's good couple of inches ( _couple_ ), Keith most certainly could beat his ass any time of the day.

"I'm talking about your frown, it's horrendous," he brushed the back of his hand over his forehead in frustration, "How many times will I have to tell you that before you realize that your profession demands some level of social-ability?" he asked tiredly, throwing a pointed look at Keith.

Keith mimicked Lotor's sigh of frustration and pulled the corners of his lips into the same, factory smile he always wore at work.

Lotor punched him lightly in the shoulder and laughed, "You're terrible!" he said, tenderness palpable in his voice.

" _You're_ terrible!" Keith retorted, but without bite to the words.

"Alright, alright." his boss said and walked behind Keith, shoving him towards the employee dress room.

"Go get changed. I want you out and ready in five, you hear me?"

"Loud and clear boss…" he muttered as the door to the changing room slammed shut behind him.

 _At least it'll keep his mind off things…_

The night went on as usual: he served customers and attempted to look as un-threatening as possible. Surprisingly, many deemed his lone-wolf attitude attractive, which _obviously_ rolled in the customers. It was one of the reasons as to why Lotor lets him off with nothing more than a gentle warning every time.

Keith and Lotor had a short yet strong history. They met a few years ago, a few weeks after Lotor and Allura started dating. At first, Keith barely _tolerated_ the guy who always came at him with unwanted commentary and snarky remarks. Yet, over time as he and Lotor grew closer, Keith realized those remarks and comments to be nothing more than just gentle picking. As much as Keith hated his guts at first, he eventually admitted to Allura's unmistakable ability to pick both friends and husbands. At first glance one would deem him snobby and manipulative but deep down, behind that iron demeanor, hid a young boy with a warm and tender heart. A boy who loved and cherished his wife more than anything in the world.

Keith simply adored them.

Surprisingly, or unsurprisingly, Lotor is mad rich. With his father being the head of a huge company— its bases all over the globe. This of course meant that Lotor lived with the privilege of money and time and from that privilege came the idea of _Marmora._ Since he was in dire need of employees at the time, Keith was quickly given a job at Marmora night-club. Most certainly thankful beyond words, despite the tough working hours and the migraine-breeding environment.

A club is a club, after all: packed with drunk, sweaty, loud people and obnoxious, stroke triggering lights which blinked and moved and shone from every direction all at once. The entire spectrum assaulting his vision collectively but also one at a time.

 _Exhausting._

Like a cherry on top: he of course has no choice but to suffer through annoying, clingy and downright creepy customers. Like Mr. Shit-scarf. They call him that (he, Lotor and Allura that is) due to the fact that he always, _always_ , wears the same dung-brown scarf. They assume him to be somewhere mid forties to fifties, which is disgusting considering Keith's youth and Mr. Shit-scarf's consistent 'flirting'. Mr. Shit-scarf always orders a blowjob ( _classic_ ) in the same slimy tone, as if he's asking Keith himself for the service. _Yuck_.

As the club-energy slowly started dying down, so did Keith's working hours. Once he was finally done and back home in bed he felt as thought he could finally relax and just sleep through the night.

He couldn't.

The next day began as usual. It was Friday morning and he took Raven to school as usual, hesitant and lingering as always like the doting, clingy parent that he most certainly has become over the years.

His day went by as per usual, a busy restaurant and an energetic, bossy Allura bouncing around from table to table with her paper-white hair in a tight bun on her head. Keith stood at the other end of the local, watching her work busily. He was much but a liar he simply wasn't: he liked Allura, a lot. Once upon a time it was more than just friendly, loving glances between two people who were as close as family; long ago they'd share much more intimate, sensual glances.

Those days were beyond them— with Alluras marriage to Lotor and everything— but Keith couldn't help but stare sometimes. _Not in a creepy way, just lazily_ _and admiringly_ , _OK?_

Her big, blue eyes squeezed shut as warm laughter bubbled out from deep within her stomach and spread across her already flush cheeks, she had laughed at something one of the employees (Coran, her uncle) said. Keith smiled from across the room, entranced for a moment, then quickly went back to work.

But he was quickly interrupted by the persistent buzzing over his right cheek.

He pulled out his phone and looked at the caller ID: _Raven's school?_

A throbbing ache spread across his chest as fast as lightning and right after came the thundering that was his heart, ready to burst open at its seams. _Raven._ Blood rushed through his veins as he pressed the green 'answer' icon.

"H-Hello…?"

"Good morning Mr. Kogane, this is Mrs. Hillam, Raven's homeroom teacher."

Keith cleared his dry throat as best as he could.

"Uh, yes, good morning. How can I help you?" he asked, soaked with terror.

 _He can't lose her, too._

"I'm sorry for bothering you, but there has been a situation." Mrs. Hillam paused at the other end, briefly, "Raven got into a fight with one of the students. I would like to have a word with you in person, if possible."

Raven leapt into his arms the moment she laid her teary eyes upon him. Nothing hurt him more than seeing his little sister in tears, _tear-blue is no complimentary to purple, that's for sure._

"What the hell happened?!" he shrieked, more scared over her well being than angry over her doings.

She shuddered and buried her face in the crook of his neck, voice muffled, "I-I'm sorry!" she wailed, "But he was being mean to her!" she explained.

Keith stopped. _Mean to who?_

"Her?" he asked.

"Yes," Raven sniffed, rubbing her runny nose with the sleeve of her jacket, "Vicky."

Keith looked up at the teacher who called him earlier. Mrs. Hillam's eyes were sunken and somewhat wrinkly from age but her expression remained calm, gentle. She was an older woman, well beyond her fifties, he thought.

She watched their interaction, something warm and soft flooding her features.

"I don't know the details…" she started, "But I walked in on Trevor over here crying with a bloody nose and a very angry Raven on top."

Mrs. Hillam chuckled tiredly at the recollection.

"What a sudden change!" she exclaimed, confusing Keith in the process. _Change in what? And who the fuck is Vicky?_

He cast his eyes down towards Mrs. Hillams hips where a little boy stood, pouting, his eyes red and puffy and his cheeks pink from frustration. A paper towel was rather aggressively shoved up his nostril. _That's my girl!_ Keith thought proudly.

Of course, he shouldn't let Mrs. Hillam notice his swelling pride.

He coughed into his fist, "Raven," he began, throwing her a pointed— and well-practiced— look as to say, 'I'm proud but I have to scold you now', "You know what I've told you about randomly hitting people?"

Raven folded her arms across her chest, catching onto his tone and feigning frustration, "'Don't hit someone unless they've either hit you first or intend to hit you.'" she quoted robotically.

Keith winked discreetly at her, which Raven in turn mirrored, and gave her a quick pat on the head before standing up.

"You and I will talk about this when we get home, understood?" he asked, looking down at his sister's puffed-out, chubby cheeks. _He wanted nothing more than to squeeze them right now._

"I know…" she replied, huffing.

"Tell him you're sorry." he demanded.

"But—"

"Raven."

She sighed and turned towards the younger boy, but instead of the anticipated ask for forgiveness, the poor thing was met with a tongue out and an ugly grimace before Raven darted off into the opposite direction.

 _Now_ that _he would have to scold her for._ Keith barely managed to contain his laughter.

"S-sorry," he stammered, "I don't know what's up with her, I'll talk some sense into her."

He bent down and locked eyes with the fuming child.

"I'm sorry she hit you. I'll make sure to scold her later, OK?" he asked.

The little kid nodded and turned his back towards Keith, wobbling away.

"Again, I'm so sorr—"

"You're not fooling me, Mr. Kogane." Mrs. Hillam interrupted sternly, her eyes locked on his and her face upturned. A strict frown visible on her features.

 _Shit_ , he thought just as Mrs. Hillam's features softened. She let out a laugh, something knowing and delicate in her expression.

"I'm just messing with you," she explained, chuckling at the relief on Keith's face, "I can tell that you don't intend to actually scold her." she finished.

"Although I can't blame you…" she added, looking away thoughtfully.

He opened his mouth to defend himself but was interrupted by Raven's sudden screaming from the other side of the playground. He turned sharply at the sound, expecting some horrible revenge-attack from the nosebleed-boy, but was instead granted the view of long limbs and bronzed skin.

 _Lance?_

Keith excused himself and walked over to where Lance stood with Raven bouncing in his arms. Next to him were two people he's never seen before. A big, tall guy with chocolate skin and dark hair held up lazily with a single, orange hair-band. Next to him stood a midg— a girl, half his size with messy, honey-brown hair which stood up in every direction; her big, hazel eyes enlarged further by her thick, round-framed glasses. _Who the fuck were these people?_ They didn't match at all, Keith thought.

"Uh, Lance…?" he asked hesitantly.

At the sound of his voice, all four turned towards him. Lance jumped at the sight of Keith and the other two by his side stared questioningly.

"Keith?!" he shrieked, "What the hell are you doing here?" he asked, taken aback by Keith's sudden appearance.

"Uh, I was called in since Raven got into a fight…" he tried explaining, but before he could elaborate, the big guy with the orange head-band jumped in front of him.

"Wait, wait, wait!" he said, waving his hands around dramatically, " _You're_ her dad?!" he practically yelled, blanching instantly.

"What? No!" Keith started, "I'm her _brother_." he clarified.

The girl spoke up, "Oh, I see." she said, smirking evilly and glancing over to where Lance stood, frozen and red from top to bottom.

"You're the legendary Keith!" she stated, turning Lance an even deeper shade, _if that's even possible at this point. Why is he blushing?_

Keith stared, dumbfounded.

"Lance mentioned me?" he asked, genuinely shocked.

People rarely tend to mention him in conversation when _he's there_ , not to mention when he's not. Why would Lance mention someone he met a day prior for only a few minutes? He chose to ignore it for Lance's face's sake. _If he gets any redder his face might burst_.

"Oh yeah, totally—" the big guy started, but was immediately interrupted.

"Ap-ap-ap-ap!" Lance yelled loudly, a means of censoring his friend's words.

"Keith, this is Hunk!" Lance practically yelled and gestured energetically at said, big guy. Hunk is at almost a head taller than Lance and much wider, too. Yet, despite his strong, scary exterior Keith could tell there lays a softness there beneath all that meat and muscle.

Hunk gave him a small smile and waved, "Nice to meet you, Keith." he said heartily.

Keith smiled back, albeit much less friendly, "Nice to meet you t—"

"And _this_ is Pidge!" Lance continued, oblivious to the fact that he just interrupted Keith mid-sentence.

Pidge looked up at Keith through her thick frames and gave him a pleased smirk, "The pleasure is all yours." she said smugly.

Keith chuckled at her attitude, "Aren't you, like, twelve?" he asked, smirking back at her reluctantly.

Her face turned into a flawless scorn, clearly preparing for a counter attack, but Hunk interrupted with his rumbling laughter.

"Oh man," he wheezed, "I love this guy, Lance!" he said and pulled Keith into a tight shoulder hug.

Pidge scoffed, and Lance snorted next to her, laughing at his friend's misfortune.

"She'll get back at you for that one!" Lance snorted, "Keep a weapon under your pillow 'cause she's coming for your ass." he warned, a tinge of familiarity evident in his tone.

Keith looked between them, finding the situation both amusing and heartwarming. Raven was snuggling into Lance's arms, giggling along with the group. _Since when are those two so close?_ He wondered, suddenly hyper-aware of just how much he's unaware of when it comes to Raven and those around her. _Ouch._

"So," Hunk interrupted, "You're the brother of the Champion Raven?" he asked.

Keith stopped, all the pieces falling into place.

"Oh my God, Vicky is Veronica?!" he questioned suddenly, aiming it at Lance.

Lance just laughed and scoffed jokingly, "You're really bad at nicknames, aren't you?" he asked.

Keith just crossed his arms over his chest and furrowed his eyebrows, Lance broke eye contact. _Huh?_

"Man, did _you_ teach her to throw punches like that?" Pidge suddenly asked, intrigued with the rude stranger once again.

"I guess so…" he said, uncertain as to where this conversation was going.

"Awesome!" she said and smirked up at him.

"You should have seen it, she practically leaped across the room and slammed her entire body into the poor victim!" Lance added energetically, flailing his arms around a recreating the supposed scenario.

"We all just stood there and stared!" he continued, "I heard the little shit spit some bullshit at Vicky but before I could react her hero had swept in to save the day!"

Keith's chest inflated with pride and love. _She was protecting her friend from a bully, what a warrior._ He thought proudly.

"Where is she now?"

"Veronica? She's over there," Lance pointed to one of the swings on the shared school-playground.

True to his words, Veronica sat on one of the swings and swung lazily back and forth, chatting excitedly with some other girl with bright, red hair.

"Guess I should thank you…" Lance suddenly said, wavering.

"For what? I didn't do anything." he said, "Thank Raven, not me."

"Nonsense! _You_ thought her!" Hunk pointed out, "We should show our gratitude to both of you!"

"Hunk." Lance warned, a bite to his voice.

Hunk ignored him and continued excitedly, "You should both come over to Lance's place next weekend! I promised I would bake cookies for game-night, so you should both come and join us!" he announced happily.

"Hunk!" Lance warned again, tugging at the bigger guy's shirt.

"Hey, I'm just doing the decent thing here!" he explained himself to a furious Lance who was once again a shade too red.

"Yeah." Pidge intervened, that smug smirk back on her lips, "You should do the decent thing and invite them for a play- _date_!" she let her voice linger on 'date', giving Lance a knowing look.

"Look, I'm flattered but there's no need to inv—"

"You heard them," Lance interrupted dejectedly, faking disappointment, judging by the rosy cheeks, "The more the merrier, or whatever." he said, averting his gaze.

As much as Keith despised crowds and unnecessary, time-consuming plans, he couldn't resist their intense, pleading eyes. Each one had their own motive, but they all waited for a 'yes', even Raven.

Keith sighed, "Fine, if it's not a bother…" he said.

Cheers erupted around him. Another weekday wasted on pointless socializing. Although, Keith couldn't help but anticipate the occasion. A little bit, at least.

Maybe it's not such a bad idea after all…

 **CHAT NAME: princessdaddyissues**

 **Online: Princess, MrPancakes, Maybelline**

 **7:20PM, Princess (Allura) said:**

 _What happened today?_

 **7:21PM, MrPancakes (Keith) said:**

 _Uh Raven_

 _she got into a fight, apparently_

 **7:23PM, Princess (Allura) said:**

 _what?_

 **7:25PM, MrPancakes (Keith) said:**

 _don't ask_


	3. Chapter 3 - Burned Throat

Chapter 3

" _**For all the kids and all the ones and even some who've just begun.  
To feel the pain 'cause they can't stand to stay away."**_

As much as Lance enjoyed Keith's presence, his friends' commentary he never asked for. After the abnormal, embarrassing 'conversation' with Keith at Veronica's school they were now hanging out in their usual café for their afternoon gossip. Okay, Lance was the only one who called it 'gossip', _but only because it is!_

He let his eyes wander around the small, cramped café and lingered a little longer than intended on the blonde barista. His nametag read 'Cole', Lance noticed. Of course, Lance hadn't been the only one to notice, Pidge just _had to_ make a sly comment about his obvious lack of control when it came to cute boys in work-uniforms. Despite her unwanted commentary and Hunk's not so subtle cackling in the background, Lance loved them both to the bone. So far, they were the only two people who knew about him being bisexual. No one else knows. Not because Lance is unsure about it— quite the opposite, actually— he just cannot bring himself to come out, mostly out of fear of his parents. He loves them dearly, he really does, but the fact that they're not so supportive of gay rights is hard to avoid. _Especially if you're kind of gay yourself._

Lance brought the hot cup to his lips and sipped experimentally, his Chapstick leaving faint grease marks on the rim. As he studied the same, familiar and homey surroundings he realized that the manager finally chose to re-decorate. The old, shriveled up plants by the window had been replaced with fresh, bright green ones. Some had even begun to sprout flowers, their petals gently falling and resting on the marble window sills. The creaky, ancient chairs had been replaced by bright red, plastic ones that fit the green and red décor well.

Few people were occupying the small café, mostly since it laid rather hidden from the rest of the city. Lance had found it on accident one day when he first moved here and got lost in the middle of the city on his way home. The place called for him, tempted him with its rusty, vintage interior and adorable little purple wind chime. It all just screamed home to Lance and he immediately told his friends about it, who happily joined him the next time for some coffee.

"So~" Hunk started and leaned forward, elbows resting on the table and his tea clutched tightly in his hands, "Tell us~"

"About what?" Lance tried, unwilling to participate in the harassment that is to come.

"Don't pretend you don't know what he's talking about." Pidge butted in and pushed her glasses further up her nose.

The ice cubes in her coke clinked when her hand bumped into the glass lightly.

"Okay, enough," he slammed his palms down on the table, it earned him stares from the surrounding pensioners and housewives, "Can you two, like, not bully me about it for five minutes?!" he exclaimed.

"Seriously! You two completely humiliated me in front of him earlier!"

"You don't need our help with _that_."

"Ooooh! Good one, Pidge!" Hunk chuckled and leaned back in his chair.

"The _betrayal_. Hunk? You too? Are you going against me, too?!" Lance sniffed dramatically and cocked his head to the side to look out the window mournfully. _It adds effect_.

"Oh, c'mon Lance!" he started, "You can't blame us, you were acting like an idiot around him!"

"Exactly. And after all the things you told us about last night, we couldn't help but feel intrigued by the sudden appearance of the Prince Charming who swept you off your feet so bad that you forgot how to, you know, _act like yourself_."

Pidge mimicked Hunk and leaned back too, taking her coke with her and chugging half of the cold beverage.

"I hate you both."

"No, you don't." Hunk argued, knowing very well that Lance loved them dearly.

"Okay, fine!" Lance said, exhausted by the consistent nagging, "What do you want me to tell you?!"

"Everything." Pidge answered.

Her round, gold-rimmed glasses reflected the sunlight from outside straight into Lance's eyes and he had to squint to see anything. _Curse her and her stupid glasses and even stupidier smirk_ — _is that the right word?._

He exhaled.

"Alright, so I met him last night as I was dropping off Rave—"

"Yeah, yeah, you already told us that over text," Hunk interrupted, "Get to the juicy part!" Pidge added.

"Juic—" but before the question could leave his lips, realization hit him, and he felt his cheeks heat up at the implication.

"Wha— we didn't _fuck!_ " he yelled, voice cracking. _Dammit, why was_ _he_ _cursed with permanent-blush-syndrome?!_

He brought his still too hot coffee to his lips and made an attempt at chugging it but failing miserably, burning his tongue in the process and flailing around desperately until he caught hold of Pidge's drink, chugging the rest of it.

"Hey! That's mine! You're gonna pay for that!"

Hunk laughed hard next to her, bending over and clutching his stomach. Tears were gathering in the corners of his eyes and his nose crinkled sweetly.

"Oh man—" he wheezed, barely able to form words, "You're really far gone, aren't you?" he asked between gasps.

"It's— hey! It's not funny! Stop laughing!"

He threw some dry cupcake crumbs on his hyperventilating friend, none missing its target.

"What's up with you?" Pidge asked, still pouty over the cola, "Since when are _you_ incapable of flirting with someone you find attractive?" she asked.

Lance sat void of an answer. What was he supposed to say? That said stranger happens to be the most gorgeous individual he's laid his eyes upon and that that somehow, for some reason, lowered his self esteem and rendered him incapable of flirting with said babe? _Yeah, no_.

To be fair, Lance himself felt unsure about the whole thing. How come Keith manages to completely break him down to nothing but a flustered, stuttering mess every time they speak to each other? Why is that so difficult with this one particular individual? Lance couldn't say, didn't dare to say. Yet it remained there, in the back of his head, the _real_ reason he failed to talk to Keith normally like he usually does.

He scoffed and crossed his arms over his chest, puffing indignantly, "Nothing _is wrong with me!"_

After they parted and went their separate ways, Lance decided to take his sweet time walking all the way home, which was a good thirty blocks away. He didn't mind it, though. Walking is Lance's muse. It's during his prolonged promenades through the bustling city that he discovers new aspects of himself and his personality. Every time he goes for a walk, he comes back a different person. _Well, not by much but_ _ **he**_ _notices it_.

It was during one of these promenades— along the beaches of Varadero where the sun usually hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the palm trees and silk-soft sand— that he realized his bisexuality. It came to him suddenly and without warming, disrupting his daily peace and creating wounds deep within where it resided. For years he feared that side of him. Anytime his brain would find another male attractive he immediately went into full-on protection mode and banished any thoughts of the stranger in question entirely. Denying his queerness made life so much easier, or at least so he thought.

It wasn't until he moved to the USA, barely twelve years old, that he developed his first boy-crush on one of the guys in his class. His name Lance couldn't remember for the life of him, but he remembered his face as clear as day.

He had those big, red-brown eyes which reminded Lance of molten magma. Searing hot, deadly even, but so incredibly beautiful and provocative. He wanted nothing more than to swim in those burning cores, but he knew very well that he couldn't.

His cheeks and nose were dusted with hundreds upon hundreds of tiny freckles which grew in both size and quantity every summer. That— coupled with pale, creamy skin— left Lance breathless and in awe. Never had he seen a boy so pretty that he didn't even bother to activate his gay-deter thoughts, the ones he kept stored in his brain all year around.

Either way, Lance fell pretty hard. His so called "crush" ended up lasting more than two years, which was and still is record for his longest crush on someone. Hunk naturally argued that he had, obviously, fallen in love with the guy, but Lance knew better. Not then, maybe, but now he did. That had not been love, he was certain of it.

Upon entering his home, the first thing he was greeted with was his mother's yelling at his brothers from the living room.

" **No! Luis, Marco, stop it you idiots!"**

He kicked off his shoes and went around the corner and into their oversized, overpriced living room which was cluttered with his father's books, his mother's questionable décor and his siblings junk.

" **I'm hom—"** he started, but barely got the words out of his moth before Veronica tackled him to the ground, hard.

"Lance! Lance!" she squealed excitedly, bouncing on his bruising ribs vigorously, "She's so cool! Did you see?!"

Lance could only cough painfully in response, incapable of more than that from the heavy infant on his chest. Once she realized the problem, she quickly got off apologetically but returned to her story right after, anticipating his response.

He coughed once more, "Who is?" he asked, although he had a pretty good guess on who exactly she was talking about.

"Raven! Did you see how she punched him? He was being mean to me, but Raven saved me!"

All he could do was smile lovingly at his little sister who was bouncing happily, retelling the story from earlier today. It honestly surprised Lance to get a call from Veronica's school. He never expected that such a day would come, considering how caring and gentle Veronica is. When he heard of the boy with the bloody nose, his first thought went to Veronica and whether she was okay or not. Lance couldn't find it in himself to care about the other boy— even if it had sounded like Veronica had been the one who threw the punch— all Lance cared about was Veronica and whether that little fucker had hit her back or not.

When he arrived and found out that _Raven_ had been the true hero here he was pleasantly surprised but terrified, too. _Just what exactly is Keith teaching her at that age?_ Nonetheless, Lance was thankful to Raven for dealing with the nasty little thing. As much as Lance loves kid, that little fucker deserved a special place in hell in Lance's mind for being a little dickhead towards Veronica.

" **Did you thank her properly, my angel?"**

" **I did, I did!"** she exclaimed, **"And they are coming over in a few days, right?!"**

 _Oh, right._ Lance had completely forgotten about their little deal earlier. Probably because of the adrenaline rush he was experiencing all the while holding the conversation. One of the many reasons his face was so embarrassingly flushed.

"Right… yes, they are!" he answered and ruffled her hair playfully. Veronica giggled in response and wrapped her chubby, short arms around his neck, suffocating him in the process.

" **Where have you been all day?"** his mother suddenly asked, concern creeping its way into her features.

"I was just hanging out with Pidge and Hunk at the café, don't worry about it mama." he answered truthfully and proceeded with detaching Veronica from his neck. His mother smiled down at her after a moment of thought. She wanted to tell him something, Lance could tell, and whatever it was it was difficult enough for his stronger-than-life mother to say.

" **What's the matter?"**

A heavy silence enveloped the room at Lance's sudden worrisome question. His mother remained seated in silence, picking her words above her throat. Her brows were furrowed in thought and a single curl of honey-brown hair had sprung out from her bun and fallen over her face. She looked absolutely beautiful in the dimming light of day, Lance thought.

" **I have something I need to speak with you about, will you come with me?"**

"Ohhhh! Someone's in trouble!" Marco snickered behind his mother and was earned a nasty glare from said woman in response. He silenced, realizing that whatever was going on was serious. Lance could only fear for the worst.

He nodded and sat up reluctantly, not sure whether he should fight or flee. Flee felt like the better option the second they stepped foot into his room and his mother closed the door behind her rather harshly.

" **What's going on?"** she asked, all previous tenderness gone from her features.

"Wh-what are you talking about…?" he tried asking, but his mother was quick with her words.

" **My love, are you gay?"**

The world suddenly stopped, and all Lance could think was _flee_.

 _Flee. Flee. Flee. You should have fled when you had the chance!_ For a long time now, he's been walking through life wondering when and how he would come out to his parents. He had made up hundreds of fake scenarios, all ranging from worst to best possible. None of them had prepared him for this, none of them compared to this. Never in his wildest dreams would he have ever thought that he would get outed like this— so suddenly, too.

His breath caught in his lungs. He feared that if he so much as moved an inch his lungs would set ablaze from the intruding gasoline which heaved them down so suddenly. Anything could ignite it, it was just a matter of _what_ , so he remained as still as the dead. His fingers felt cold where they were pressed against the sides of his stomach, one arm over the other as a means of protection from whatever was to come. _No. Not like this, please!_

His vision went blurry as he spoke, **"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm** _ **so sorry!**_ **"** he hickuped loudly and rubbed his eyes aggressively, irritating the delicate organs. **"I'm sorry! I'll fix it, I promise!"**

He could feel it, the desperation crawling in under his skin and into his bones. It stung like needles and he had to grip his skin even harder to keep himself from screaming in agony. _Not you, I don't want to lose you. Please!_

" **I'll—"** he hickuped once more, **"I'll fix it, I promise! I'll—"**

But before he could finish he was cut off by a pair of strong arms enveloping his shaking body. Calloused, big hands were suddenly rubbing big and gentle circles on his back.

" **What are you apologizing for?"** she whispered into his ear, her voice strained and cracking at the end of her sentence.

" **I'm not angry because you're gay, my love, I'm angry because you never told me. I'm angry because you don't trust me enough to tell me."**

She continued rubbing his back reassuringly and left soft butterfly kisses on his shoulder and forehead.

"I'm—" he started, but paused to recollect himself, "You're not mad?"

" **Surprised. Not mad, no. Only a little, but not for the reason you think."**

"Mama?"

" **Yes, my love?"**

" **I'm bisexual."**

" **Okay, my love."**

Once he had calmed down enough to breathe somewhat normally again, everything crashed down on him.

 _He came out to his mother._

He really went and did it, didn't he? Between hickups and panicked words he managed to tell his mother what he's been hiding for his entire life. But how did she find out in the first place? Did someone tell her? Does anyone else know? Does… his father know?

Lance shivered at the mere thought of it. But he had to ask nonetheless.

"Mama…?" he started weakly, voice raspy and broken.

"Yes?"

"How did you find out?" he asked.

His gaze remained locked onto his hands where they rested in his lap. They were trembling horribly. His mother continued rubbing big, soft circles on his back soothingly, but she wasn't speaking. Something about her demeanor screamed danger to Lance. Whatever it was, it can't be good.

"Mom?"

Her movements stopped, and she turned her head to the side, lower lip stuck between two rows of white teeth.

"Your friend… told us…"

 _My friend?_ Lance knew for a fact that neither Hunk nor Pidge would ever, EVER, out him like that without his permission or awareness. Aside from those two, no one else knows… except for… _no, it can't be. He wouldn't do that, would he?_ _He wouldn't sink that low._

Or maybe he would.

"Does dad know, mom?" he pushed, fear crawling its way in under his skin and over his bones, chilling him to the core. He was trembling, but this time for other reasons less comforting. His mother's silence didn't aid in calming down his raging heartbeat either.

"Mama?" he tried again, but his words came out weak— a mere whisper.

"He does."


	4. Chapter 4 - Vanilla Popcorn

" _**Don't go, I can't do this on my**_ __ _ **own. Save me from the ones that haunt me in the night. I can't live with myself, so stay with me tonight."**_

He froze.

 _Dad knows?_

" **What?! How!? Did you tell him?"** was all he managed to get out.

" **No, my love,** _ **he**_ **told** _ **me**_ **."**

Lance stilled. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. There was absolutely no way that the _traitor_ had gone to his father out of all people. Why would he do that? What drives a person to out someone like that?

A million questions swarmed and buzzed like enraged bees in his head. Yet, despite his anger and frustration, which boiled deep within, his fingers felt cold and lifeless. Stiff as they were against the fabric of his jeans. All hope had been sucked out of his body, forcibly removed, and it left him with nothing but the shell that is his body. There were only two possible outcomes from this: either he gets beat up beyond comprehension, or he's kicked out. There is no in-between. Knowing his mother, she would never let anyone lay a finger on Lance, which left him with the second option of spending the rest of his adolescent life on the cold streets of Manhattan.

In that moment of revelation, time stopped. _Lance was utterly, completely doomed,_ and there was nothing he could do but await the inevitable. Something hot streaked his cheeks, and he realized that he was crying once again, but this time it was different. This time there was no sobbing or wailing, no desperation or annoying hiccupping. This time Lance accepted his doom, and as the doorbell rang aggressively from downstairs he curled in on himself and cried silent tears of mourning. His mother's soft hands never left his back, but the tears which mirrored his own made his heart sink. Heavy footsteps echoed through the house and the stairs which led up to Lance's room creaked disapprovingly with every stomp. Lance held his breath and watched as his mother tensed next to him where they were sat on his bed, she was ready to fight for him. In that moment, seconds before the door swung open, Lance realized just how much he adored his mother. Despite everything, she stood her ground and protected her son with all her might. To her, it didn't matter whether he was bisexual, straight, white or purple. All that mattered was that Lance was the Lance she's always known and that he was safe in her arms. _Mother's love_ , he thought sadly.

The door to his room swung open and his father's voice boomed.

" **Mind explaining yourself, Lance McClain?!"** were the first words that came out of his mouth. Suddenly, all previous calm disappeared, and Lance sat in pure terror. His dad was still in his work clothes, meaning he got the unfortunate news while at work, which would explain how Lance had survived for this long. Oil stains littered his clothes and body.

" **Dad, I can expl—"**

" **Explain what?! That my son is a faggot?"** his expression was of pure anger, disgust even, And Lance's stomach twisted painfully. If only he would listen, if only he could understand.

" **Please, dear, at least hear him out."**

" _ **Hear him out?**_ **What, are you on his side, too?"** he paused, fists clenched tightly by his sides, his knuckles painted white.

" **He hasn't done anything wrong—"**

" **Shut up! I'm not talking to you."**

He stepped towards Lance and shoved away his mother's reached out arm which had been wrapped around him protectively. Lance was suddenly cold and defenseless. His father's big hand wrapped around his bicep and squeezed hard at the delicate skin and sore muscles. He yelped in pain as his father pulled him off the bed forcefully, shoving him towards the door and turned to rummage through Lance's closet where he found his old backpack. With a few swift motions he picked up Lance's books and a change of clothes, closed the backpack and shoved it into Lance's arms harshly.

" **Leave."**

Lance's world collapsed, _it's over_.

" **Dear, no! Please don't do this!"**

But his father wouldn't have it. He grabbed Lance by the shoulders, turned him around and began shoving him out of the house all the while his mother's please echoed through their home. His siblings stood as still as statues by the entrance to their living-room and Lance gave them each one last, broken smile before the cold air hit his face and the door slammed shut behind him.

 _Figures_.

SIX HOURS LATER – 1:15AM

The air outside was cold and unforgiving and the heavy fall-winds chapped his lips and dried out his skin beyond repair. He's been wandering around Manhattan aimlessly for six hours, trying to find a safe spot to crash for the night but without luck. Whenever he deemed a place OK enough to sleep in he was either chased off or kicked out by the owners. At this point, he even considered crashing with the homeless people he usually passes on his way to school, but to what avail? Lance knew very well that he wouldn't be able to fall asleep either way. He knew that the burning behind his eyelids was the aftermath of hours and hours of constant crying. His tears left cold streaks on his cheeks and no matter how many people he passed looking like that, _not a single one_ stopped to offer help or support.

What now? Should he just off himself and get it over with? That way he won't have to think of a way to survive like this, he won't have to sleep on the street like someone's disposed garbage, which was coincidentally exactly what he was. His father's garbage, a horrible mistake. To him, Lance was nothing but a failure, so to compare him to the never-ending piles of black garbage bags which littered the streets wasn't far off. It was rather accurate, actually. He sighed and buried his hands further down the pockets of his favorite vomit-jacket. He wished now that he had listened to his mother and had gotten himself a new one. One without holes that is warmer and more suitable for these weather conditions. But you can't blame him, how was he supposed to know that his own father would throw him out of the house because he loved a boy once a little too much and apparently said a little too much, too, to said boy. Because of his inability to keep his mouth and heart shut he had managed to once again fuck up royally, this time on his behalf. He should have never trusted Ross the way he did. He should have never let him into his life like that, never given him the opportunity to save his father's phone number.

Lance couldn't wrap his head around it. _Why did Ross decide to call_ _ **now**_ _, out of the blue, and why did he out Lance like that? Was he unaware of his parents' close-mindedness?_ But his thoughts got interrupted by the intense growling of his stomach. _Man, the things he would give right now for some chipotle._

The moment the thought formed in his mind he noticed a small Mc Donald's at the corner of the street. He fumbled around until he felt the familiar squareness of his wallet in the back-pocket of his jeans and let out a satisfied, relieved sigh. At least he has money to buy himself some food. But his luck didn't Last for long. Upon entering the small, 24-hours Mc Donald's, he noticed a girl by the cash registers. He hair was pulled up into a tight ponytail and her legs were long and slim, dressed in washed out skinny jeans. Her shirt had some emo band name on it and a choker hugged her skinny neck delicately. Lance gawked in awe for a few seconds before he noticed the frown which dominated her features. She was arguing with the guy behind the register.

"What do you mean I have to pay now? You've always let me pay you back for it later! Can't I just come back tomorrow?"

The guy at the register huffed in frustration and cast her the stink eye.

"Look. If you can't pay up, you ain't getting food. Understood? Now get out of my sight. I've had enough of you and your empty promises."

Lance watched the ordeal from the sidelines, hesitating. On one hand, the guy had a point, they can't just give out food for free. But then again, Lance felt sorry for her. He would normally never feel this much remorse for a stranger trying to get free food at a Mc Donald's, but after what he's gone through for the last few hours he can't help but feel bad for her. Lance made his decision.

"I'll pay for her." he announced, to which he was earned a confused look from the girl in question.

"Do I know you?" she asked, shocked by his actions.

"No…" Lance started, "But you could if you want to?" he winked at her and then proceeded with pulling out his wallet, ready to hand her money for her food, but before Lance could do anything she had walked up to him and cupped his chin in her hand.

"You're cute." she said and fluttered her eyelashes, "What's your name, cutie?"

Lance stammered, baffled by her forwardness, "T-the name's Lance." he managed to get out and quickly steadied himself.

"And you are?" he asked with a raise of eyebrow.

"The girl who just stole both your heart and your wallet." she said and quickly darted past him and out the door before Lance could even react to what had just been said to him. Once his brain caught up with the rest of the world, he turned on his heel and darted out after her.

"Hey!" he yelled into a dark nothingness, "Give it back, I need that!" he cried and continued running with all he got, turning and twisting so as not to run into the pedestrians still out this late at night, but there was no point. Lance slowed down and accepted the fact that he had just been scammed, and super openly, too. Once more he cursed his heart for feeling so much all the time and turned around dejectedly. Not only did he not get his food, but he had no more money, either. Nothing. Everything he owned that was of some value had been in that wallet. It hadn't been much, but enough to get him by. Now he didn't have it anymore. His eyes filled with tears once more and they kept on falling until he found an empty park bench in central park. He laid down on the hard, cold surface and closed his eyes, finally accepting defeat and letting sleep wash over him.

THE NEXT DAY, 7:30AM

Lance woke up to the sound of a skateboard rolling on the cemented road of the park. People were already out and about, some strolling around aimlessly, other's walking their dog, jogging or walking to school or work. Lance checked his phone, 7:34AM. He sat up on the bench and grunted from the pain in his back and hips. He could feel his heartbeat in his brain, the world around him spinning. His fingers and toes he could no longer feel and his thighs stung from the cold. With shaky fingers and a growling stomach, he dialed his mother's number, all the events of yesterday crashing down on him all over again.

After seven rings his mother's voice answered, raspy and broken from what Lance could only assume had been crying and yelling.

"Yes?"

A pause. Lance wasn't sure what to say. After his failed attempts at calling last night, he had decided to call her anonymously, but now he wasn't so sure of what to say anymore.

" **Mom…?"**

Another pause and a quiet intake of breath.

" **My love, is that you?"** she asked and Lance could hear her voice cracking at the end, could imagine the tears which streamed down her cheeks right about now.

" **Mom, can I come home?"**

" **Oh, my love."** she said and cried audibly.

" **If only I could give you the answer you're hoping for."**

Lance's hands shook. The world around him continued onwards, not stopping for him or anything that was happening to him for even a second. The audacity.

" **Where are you? Are you safe? Lance, I—"** but before she could finish, Lance hung up. He couldn't bear to hear it, didn't want to hear her excuses. Lance knew deep down that his mother wasn't to blame, his father was probably threatening her and his siblings, but he hated her nonetheless. He hater her for not stopping him. He hated her for not letting him come back home. He hated his siblings for just standing there. He hated his dad for letting him down like that, for kicking him out of his life as if he was of no value to him. He hated the world for continuing, for functioning amidst his suffering. He hated his friends for not having these issues. He hated Ross for giving out his biggest secret. He hated the girl from last night for stealing his wallet. But most of all, he hated himself for who he was. He hated himself for letting this happen. He hated himself for the love he felt so strongly. He hated himself as he called Hunk.

A few seconds later, Hunk's voice boomed through the speaker.

"Lance! Good morning!"

Lance could practically hear the love and excitement in Hunk's voice. Hunk was always so happy whenever Lance called him out of the blue like this.

"Lance?" his voice grew hesitant from Lance's silence.

"Buddy?" he paused, "Are you OK? What happened? Where are you?" the questions came flowing, worry etched into his voice, and Lance broke.

He cried and wailed and hickuped and trembled in agony.

"Lance…" Hunk's voice came through gentle, "Shhh, it's gonna be OK, Lance. OK? Listen to me, buddy, you'll be alright."

His friend let out a worried sigh and Lance finally willed up the strength to answer, voice raspy and wavering.

"Hunk, I'm _really hungry_."

"Where are you, buddy? What happened? Want me to come and get you?"

"Yes…"

ONE HOUR LATER, 8:55AM

Hunk's arm was wrapped around him protectively as he led him to his car. It started raining right after the call with Hunk, and Lance was now wrapped up in Hunk's big jacket. It was warm and smelled of brownies, lavender and Hunk. It felt like home, which made Lance cry even harder, because he was undeserving of a friend like that. He was undeserving of a home, of warmth.

When they finally settled down into Hunk's old 1967 Beetle and Lance regained feeling in his toes and fingers, Hunk spoke up.

"So…" he started, and Lance kept his gaze forward.

He was breathing in time with the music on the radio, slow and steady and calming, and stared at the heavy water droplets which hit the front window. The sound was meditating, and Lance sunk deeper into the seat.

"What happened?" Hunk finished, gaze locked on Lance's tear-streaked profile.

"He told them, Hunk."

"Who told who what?" Hunk asked, confused but already guessing what it could be about.

"Ross. He outed me to mom and dad and now I have no where left to go." Lance took a deep breath and then let the words flow out of him without pause. He told him everything: about his mother's reaction, about his father's harsh words and rough hands, about the girl at the 24-hours Mc Donald's and about his rumbling stomach.

Hunk sat in silence and listened, taking in every word. His hand rested gently on Lance's cold thigh, it was warm in contrast and stabilizing in a very familiar way. Hunk's hand was almost the size of his thigh, but it was soft and gentle and not at all harsh like his father's had been. _His father_.

After Lance's heart wrenching story and a lot of tears and snot, Hunk pulled him into a tight embrace and didn't let go until his cries silenced. Only then did he let go so that he could finally drive them both to Hunk's apartment. During the ride all Lance could think about was what a nuisance he was being. Hunk was skipping school for him and not only that, but he was willingly letting Lance crash at his place, the same place he shared with Shay. There's no way Lance can stay there for longer than a day at most. Hunk has a life, and so does Shay, and they have a life together. He doesn't want to get in the way of that.

He voices his thoughts to Hunk, who immediately denies everything.

"What? No way! You're not a nuisance and I'm positive Shay feels the same way! _Of course_ I would come and get you, you're my best friend Lance! I can't leave my best friend out on the cold, wet streets all alone?"

"One day is all I need and then I'll be out, I promise."

Hunk sighed dejectedly and gripped the steering wheel hard. _Great, I'm already annoying him._

"Lance." he started and chanced a glance at Lance to his right, "You're not a nuisance, never think that. You're free to stay for as long as you want, I promise, but I can't force you..." he paused, thinking, "But neither will I let you out on the streets just like that again. If you're gonna leave you better have a place to stay and proof of said place, understood?"

Sometimes Lance wondered whether Hunk was his friend or his second dad. He smiled at his friend's intense caring.

"Sure. I promise. And thanks, Hunk. It means a lot."

Hunk lit up, "Of course! You can always count on me, buddy!"

The first thing Lace was met with when he entered Hunk's cramped apartment was Shay and her big, buff arms wrapped around his slim figure roughly. She picked him up into her embrace and nuzzled her nose into his neck, crying.

"Oh, Lance!" she wailed, "What happened? Why were you out in the rain all on your own!?" she asked, her embrace tightening. She stilled, anger surfacing, "Who hurt you? Show them to me and me and Hunk will finish them!" she said and looked to Hunk for approval, who's face only whitened and hands went up in surrender. He was shaking his head at her aggressively.

"Nope. Not happening! Don't involve me in that, you know I can't fight people!" he defended himself and then cast Lance an apologetic look.

Lance just coughed in response, his lungs protesting loudly where they were squeezed between her strong arms. She realized the issued and let go of him suddenly, his ass hitting the floor.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" she said and kneeled down to cup his cheeks, "Are you hungry? Hunk will make us something to eat and, in the meantime, come with me, I'll give you a change of clothes!"

He went into Hunk's room with Shay and she helped him get out of his wet shirt and pants. Shay handed him some of Hunk's old clothes and told him to keep them, said that Hunk never wears it. Upon getting a confirmation from the man himself, Lance reluctantly put it on. The shirt was an old, worn Star Wars T-shirt which hung loose on him, a couple of sizes too big for his skinny body. Despite the width of his shoulders, he was scrawny. Especially compared to Hunk. A swimmer's body. The pants weren't a better match and he had to not only roll them up but tie them as tightly as he could around his slender hips. He looked more like a homeless person now than he had out there on the park-bench. Either way, the clothes were warm and cozy and smelled of Hunk and comfort and everything good with the world, which had been diminished to a few things only.

After a few minutes of explaining the ordeal to Shay and being comforted by the big woman, Hunk called them over for food, something Lance had missed hearing more than he should.

After they'd eaten, Lance decided to call Pidge, the last person who could possibly house him for a few days. He ignored both Hunk's and Shay's constant reassurance and dialed the familiar number anyway.

"Where are you?!" was the first thing that greeted his ears, loudly too. He pulled the phone away from his ear and rubbed it, frowning.

"At Hunk's place."

"What?! Are you guys ditching? And without me?!" she exclaimed, betrayal evident in her tone. Lance could hear the familiar bustling of the school cafeteria in the background and was suddenly overwhelmed with sorrow.

Tears rolled down his cheeks as he repeated the same story for the third time that day. Pidge was silent on the other end, then she spoke up.

"So you have no where else to go now?" she asked.

"Yeah…" Lance managed to get out between sobs and wheezes.

"And you wanna crash at my place for a few days until you find a place to stay that isn't Hunk's because you've convinced yourself that Hunk considers you a nuisance?"

"Which, by the way, is completely false!" Hunk yelled next to Lance.

"Sounds about right." Lance answered and waited for her reply. For each second of silence Lance grew more and more insecure. Pidge has a family, too. What if they don't have room or time to house a guest? Would she get into trouble? But Colleen was a kind woman, she loved Lance! Surely, she would let him stay a few days, right? _Right?_

"It's only until I find someplace to stay, like a relative or someone from school or something!" he added quickly, "I think one of my coworkers could take me in, they really like me after all. And I'm sure if I ask nicely my boss would let me crash at her place—!"

"Lance." Pidge interrupted, "Of course you can stay, are you crazy? Mom loves you and I'm sure Matt will be out of himself to find out that he'll be sharing a room with Lance McClain." she confirmed, and Lance could hear the smile on her lips.

"As for me, I can't wait to have super-prolonged sleepover with you! There's so much we can do! I installed this new game that I wanna try and I need your help with running some test for my lab assignment and we _have to_ try that weird popcorn-and-vanilla cream recipe you've been bothering me about!"

"Hey! It's not weird, it's delicious! I promise!" he exclaimed happily.

Pidge laughed on the other end, "Well, you'll have to prove that! When are you coming over?" she asked.

"Tomorrow?" he questioned hesitantly.

"Sounds good!" she said, "I'll see you tomorrow then! And tell Hunk to pack down some of those brownies he made yesterday!"

With a quick reassurance on the brownies and a quiet thank you he ended the call and turned to Hunk who was smiling beside him.

"So? What do I hear about these brownies and why were you hiding them from me, big man?"

They spent the rest of the night playing video games, eating brownies and laughing at nothing and everything and for the first time since yesterday's gossip he felt happy.


	5. Chapter 5 - Damp Hands

"You took my hand, you showed me how. You promised me you'd be around. Remember when we were such fools, and so convinced and just too cool?"

MAY FIFTH, 2012

 _Muffled voices could be heard coming from the hallway. His door being closed didn't aid in their attempt at keeping such information from ever reaching his ears. He could hear them, loud and clear. Their demise and sorrow enhanced every word and sentence, clear as day and as sharp as the blade of a knife._

" _You can't be serious." his father's voice came through, on the verge of breaking. He recently received the unfortunate news from mother. His father couldn't believe his ears, that was for certain._

" _I wish I wasn't." his mother replied, voice raspy and broken from the never-ending crying, "I told the doctors we'll take any treatment they have to offer, but…" she trailed off, "They cannot guarantee us anything."_

 _Keith laid still in his bed, tear-soaked pillow cold against his over-heated skin. He was sweating like never before yet shivering all at the same time. More than anything, he felt confused._ _ **Why? Why her? Why now?**_

 _Yet— despite his questions and his passionate begging, praying to a God he didn't even believe in— nothing could change the unfortunate reality which he faced every day after school when he went to visit her._

" _Aren't you too young to be sick?" he remembered asking her, "No one is too old to be sick, Keith." she had answered, her hands shaking where they were clenched into fists in her lap._

" _But you'll be fine, right…?" he continued, and he remembers her looking at him, dejected and void of energy. When he thinks back to it, she clearly knew what awaited her, but she held on for him._

" _Yes." she finally replied and smiled warmly at him, flaunting those fresh lines on her paling skin, "I'll be fine, don't worry."_

 _She unclenched her fists and brought his hand into hers, damp and cold._

" _I'll be fine."_

 _Except she wasn't, for every day her skin got paler and paler and the muscles which were once so evident and iconic for his older sister, his hero— were now practically gone. Poof. Non-existent. Her nails were long and brittle, and her silky black hair was gone, leaving her scalp naked. She was becoming the very thing he resented more than anything on the planet, and it pained him. It pained him to see her yield, to see her give in to her doom._

 _He asked her once more about it, "How come you're not getting any better? You said you'd be fine, remember?" but this time she never responded, instead she said, "Keith? Be good, OK?"_

 _The words felt like a slap to his face, he asked, "What do you mean by that? I'm always good, anyways." but she wasn't having it, "No, Keith. Punching people for no good reason is not 'being good', I want you to 'be good' for real. OK?"_

 _She turned her face away from him and stared at the blank, white ceiling._

" _Listen to mom and dad and take care of Raven, she needs her older brother." she concluded and closed her eyes, a single tear rolled down her cheek. Keith just sat there, watching. He couldn't cry, the tears just wouldn't come, and he remembers sitting there and wondering_ _ **why**_ _. He watched her as she breathed heavily and let his fingers graze along the sharp lines of her collarbones. She let him, eyes still closed._

" _And Keith?" she suddenly said, he stopped his movement, "Yes?"_

" _I love you, you know that, right?" she asked, and opened her eyes again to meet his, "Yes." he said after a while, "I love you too." he proclaimed as tears rolled down his cheek, cold against the heat of his skin._

 _She took his hand in hers and reached out the other to wipe his tears. Her hand was shaking from the exertion and Keith closed his eyes._

 _He closed his eyes and made a promise to never love so strongly ever again._

 _Back then it was nothing but that: an empty promise, but as time went on it morphed into a rule which he solemnly swore never to break. Whenever the words "I love you" left his lips they acted like the eyes of Medusa; they killed._

The blinking lights and loud music coming from the speakers above only worsened his never-ending, throbbing migraine. For days he's been unable to get rid of it, probably due to stress.

It's been weeks since the incident at Raven's school, and to be fair he felt dejected when a call from Lance never came. No game night, he supposed. Unfortunately for Raven, fortunately for him. He decided to ignore it and move on with his life, despite the sadness he felt over having been forgotten. He figured Lance and the others just had a lot on their hands and, quite frankly, so did Keith.

"One ass, as per request." he proclaimed and handed the indecently-named drink to Matt who was smirking knowingly at him. Keith frowned in response.

"Man! That _never_ gets old, does it?" he asked and sipped on the beverage in front of him, "Must be _really_ annoying." he added, grin never wavering.

Keith scoffed, "What?! No! Are you kidding me?" he put a hand on his hip and widened his eyes at Matt mockingly, "I _love_ being unnecessarily sexualized and harassed by creepy old men every day!" he finished sarcastically.

Matt put a hand on his chest and gasped dramatically, "How _dare you_ call me an old man?!" he questioned, mock offence draped over his features.

Keith laughed and returned to scrubbing the shiny surface of the bar Matt was currently sat at. A sharp pain suddenly struck his left temple and he let out a pained yelp in response, rubbing at the affected area. Matt perked up in alarm and reached out a hand towards Keith, grabbing his wrist.

"What happened? Are you OK?" he asked and rose to inspect his face properly. Keith yanked his arms out of Matt's steal grip and plastered a weak smile on his face.

"I'm fine, just a headache." he answered reassuringly, however Matt's intense gaze never left his face.

"You're totally not okay! Dude! You're, like, really pale…" he stopped briefly and placed his right palm over Keith's damp forehead, "Are you sick or something?" he asked, worry etched into his features. _It makes him look a lot older than what he is._

"I told you, I'm _fine_." he assured once more, "No need to worry, OK? Nothing a night's sleep can't fix, I promise." he finished and moved away from Matt's touch to take another order. All the while he could feel Matt staring at him. _He's not buying it, is he?_

He can't blame him though. Both him and Keith knew very well that Keith _wouldn't_ be getting that _much needed_ sleep. He hasn't been sleeping properly for _months_ now and he's slowly starting to worry it might be more serious than he originally thought.

Matt sagged next to him and shook his head disapprovingly, but he changed the topic nonetheless.

"So, Katie is having this friend staying over at our place lately…" he started, sipping his drink once more. He grimaced, "Apparently his parents threw him out of the house because he came out as bi or something." he said, eyeing the glass in front of him with keen interest.

"Ouch…"

"Yeah…" Matt crossed his legs and looked up at Keith as he spoke, "And he's such a sweet kid, too! Out of all of Katie's friends, he's got to be my favorite!" he said and tapped his index finger against the clean surface of the bar.

"Well, it's nice of yall to let him stay at your place for the time being." Keith added fruitlessly.

"Yeah, I mean, he's Katie's friend so of course we had to!" he said and grinned widely.

For all the time he's known Matt, he's never met his sister before, which is strange to say the least. What's worse is that Shio's had a thing for Matt for _ages_ now and his feelings were finally returned years ago. Keith can't even begin to count the amount of times he's walked in on the two defiling Shiro's furniture. _Not a pretty sight, despite Keith's love for gay-porn._

He and Matt have planned to introduce Keith to Katie multiple times already, but it just never happened. Keith rarely ever meets Matt, and even less frequently has the time or energy to speak to him.

"But he can't stay forever, you know…" Matt suddenly said, bringing Keith out of his momentary trance.

Keith stopped for a second, hesitating. He doesn't know this guy Matt's talking about, but he figures offering some help might do them all some good. Besides, Keith knows all to well how shitty parents can be…

"If he needs a place to crash, my couch is always an option." he finally offered.

Matt looked at him with eyes wide open, a mix of shock and happiness on his face.

"Woah! Really, dude?! Are you sure that's OK?" he asked way too loudly, even for a customer at Marmora, "But isn't you schedule and apartment kind of crammed because of Raven and all?" he asked hesitantly.

Keith shrugged indifferently, "I mean, I don't have to… hang out with him… right? I'm just lending my couch to a homeless kid, not dedicating my schedule to him." he finished and handed a beer to a nearby customer who was eyeing him from top to bottom. _Yuck, you're like, fifty._

"Awesome!" Matt exclaimed and chugged the rest of his drink, "I'll tell him the offer's up, then?" he said, more like a question, to which Keith just nodded.

After a moment of silence, Keith addressed the elephant in the room.

"So…" he started, "When are you gonna do it?" he asked and smirked at Matt who turned a bright shade of red.

"Wha—" he stammered, baffled, "I'm— I'm working on it! Don't pressure me!"

"Well if you don't hurry up, someone else is gonna take him away from you~" Keith dragged out the last part of his sentence tauntingly, "Have you bought it, at least?" he asked.

"Of course," he hid his face behind his long, honey-colored bangs, "I'm just not ready yet."

As the night came to an end and Keith said his goodbyes to the other workers, he walked out of Marmora night club only to be greeted by Mr. Shitscarf. _Fantastic_.

"Well, hello there." the man said.

"Greetings." Keith choked out and gave him his best poker face. It didn't go unnoticed by the creep, who frowned angrily in response. He stepped in front of Keith, successfully blocking his only exit out of the back entrance of the club. It was cold outside, and the last leaves had fallen off the trees, now littering the ground and painting it in warm tones.

"C'mon, soften u'!" he slurred and reached out to grab Keith by the waist. He reeked of alcohol. Keith batted his hand away and threw him the stink eye.

"Fuck off."

"Aw, don't be a strange'!" he said and tried a grab at Keith's ass to which Keith responded to by grabbing his arm and flinging him over his shoulder, slamming him back down onto the cold ground hard. The old creep let out a pained "oof" and grabbed at his back.

"Touch me again _and I'll cripple you._ " he spat at the man by his feet and walked away, migraine persisting stubbornly.

He wrapped his jacket tighter around his shivering body and headed for the station. All the way to the station his mind kept wandering to places it hasn't visited in a long time. Suddenly, the different cars passing by him seemed so tempting to step in front of. At least then his headache would cease, he thought.

Lance woke to the sound of rain thudding gently at the window. Somewhere nearby Pidge was tapping away energetically at her keyboard. He opened his eyes and was immediately assaulted by the bright light of the room. To his right, Pidge sat next to Matt who was whispering far too loudly to her. Once he noticed Lance, he perked up.

"Good morning, sleepy head!" he practically shouted and got up to sit on the edge of Lance's bed.

"Morning, nerd." Pidge breathed out from the floor, eyes not leaving the screen for even a second.

"What time is it?" Lance rasped out tiredly and reached for his phone on the nightstand, "It's time for you to listen to what I have to say because it's good news!" Matt answered.

Lance looked at the time: 9:42AM. _Great_.

"What good news?" he asked flatly, it was _way_ too early for him to act all happy-giddy like he usually does.

"Well," Matt started, "Remember how you said that you don't wanna stay here for much longer and how you intend to pull some strings with your coworkers?" he asked excitedly, awaiting Lance's obvious reply.

"Yes."

"Well, fear no more, friend, for I have found you a roommate!" he finished happily and slammed his fist over his chest triumphantly, "And hear this, the guy doesn't mind you staying at all and he says you can stay for as long as needed! He's Shiro's brother, kind of… and an awesome guy! You'll love him." he concluded and patted Lance on the shoulder.

Lance just stared in confusion.

"So, I'll be staying with a complete stranger?" he asked.

"He's a great guy, I promise!" Matt assured him, " _And_ he has a little sister, too!" he added.

"I don't know, Matt… I mean, it's nice of you and all but it seems kinda sketchy—"

"He's hot and gay."

"Where do I sign up?"

Pidge laughed audibly from her place on the floor and finally looked up from her screen, "And who exactly _is_ this guy?"

"His name's Keith. Remember? That guy I was gonna introduce you to but never did?"

Pidge and Lance both froze, "Wait. You said his name is _Keith?_ " Lance asked, excitement bubbling in his chest at the mere mention of the name. He had almost completely forgotten about the beautiful stranger amidst all the chaos.

"Yeah…?" Matt confirmed, confused.

"It could be a different Keith…" Pidge suddenly pointed out, crushing Lance's dreams and hopes, "I mean, it's a pretty common name…" she added hesitantly.

Lance's shoulders dropped. _Why are you getting your hopes up? Of course it's not_ _ **your**_ _Keith, he barely has room for a fucking kitchen much less an annoying college student!_

"Well, whatever, I'll take anything I can get." he concluded gloomily and looked out the window over his shoulder.

Matt just shrugged and smiled at him, "Well, then, get ready! We're leaving at 10!"

Scratch anything Lance had said about not getting his hopes up.

As Matt's car rolled up into an all too familiar driveway, Lance felt as thought his soul would leave his body. _He's about to share an apartment with Keith._

Pidge grimaced at the scrappy looking complex and stuck her tongue out in disgust at they got a closer look at it.

"Ew… poor Lance…" was all she had to comment, but Lance wasn't having it, "What?! _Poor_ Lance? No, no, no. Pidge, it _is_ our Keith!" he said and flailed hi arms around in both excitement and panic. His palms were clammy from the anxiety.

"How do you—" she cut herself off, "Oh… right!" she said once she realized how Lance knows where Keith lives.

As they left the car and took the claustrophobia-elevator, Lance's thoughts were racing. _How should he explain this to Keith? Wait, Keith already knows, doesn't he? Matt must have told him when Keith offered. Or wait…_ _ **did**_ _he ever offer? What if it was just something Matt thought was implied? What if Keith was just trying to be polite?!_

The familiar door with the kitsch Christmas decoration came into view for the second time in Lance's life, and Lance momentarily forgot how to breathe as Matt rang the doorbell.

"Are you sure he's at home? Isn't he working?" Lance asked in panic.

Matt just looked at him, "What? No, it's his day off. Which are rare, by the way." he said just as the door to the apartment opened.

Keith's head poked out, hair tied up in a heart-wrenchingly adorable ponytail. Lance held his breath.

"Hey." Keith said and nodded at Matt who was standing in front, a shy smile plastered on his lips.

"It really _is_ you!" Pidge said and adjusted her glasses so as to view him with more clarity, gawking at the man in front of her. Keith looked at her and stopped.

"You…" he started and then looked from her to Matt and back to her, a light went off above his head, " _You're_ Katie?!" he yelled out, eyes spread open and mouth hanging agape, "Oh my God, I'm an idiot." he added once he noted the _obvious_ resemblance.

Pidge and Matt were practically identical in appearance, so Lance was shocked to find out that Keith never connected the dots after their first meeting.

"You mean to tell me you had _no idea?_ Dude? Are you kidding me?" she asked and furrowed her brows disapprovingly.

Keith just sighed and placed a hand on his hip, an action which didn't go unnoticed by Lance who was hiding behind Matt's broad shoulders, "I guess I'm just not good with… faces…" he concluded.

Matt just laughed, "You're so bad at this!" he said and put a hand on Keith's shoulder.

"Anyways." he said and turned, revealing Lance who was awkwardly standing behind his friend in clothes a few sizes too big. He hasn't been able to properly take care of his skin ever since he got kicked out, and his hair isn't too far behind either. Recently, he's put little effort into making himself look presentable, which was new for Lance. He suddenly felt incredibly self-conscious over the zits forming on his temple and his less than acceptable hair. _How come every time he meets Keith he looks terrible!?_

But Keith's expression only softened, and a warm smile spread across his face.

"Welcome home, Lance." he said and tapped him twice on the arm, an awkward yet surprisingly comforting way of showing affection. Lance felt warmth bloom in his chest.

"Yeah, thanks… it means a lot, really." he said, eyes locked on Keith's sock-dressed feet. _God, even his feet are perfect! Not fair._ As his eyes trailed upwards he noticed drops and smudges of paint all over his clothes. He was wearing gray sweaters (the _audacity_ ) which left little to the imagination and a white, baggy T-shirt. Plain and without a design but covered in pain and smudges. His arms and hands were covered in paint, too. _Lance was getting the hint, alright_.

"If anything happens, or if Keith can't have you stay longer, you're always welcome back." Matt suddenly said, snapping Lance back to reality. He realized the question had been directed at him.

"Oh, uh, right!" he stuttered, "Of course!" he said and felt his cheeks give away his previous thoughts. Pidge sniggered where she stood beside him, and slapped his back roughly before turning to leave with Matt.

"Take care of him, Keith!" she called back to them, "And make sure you don't break him, you hear me?" she stopped, "And, by the way, we're totally having that game-night!" she finished and turned. Lance stuck his tongue out at her and Keith just smiled and waved.

"Well," he said and looked at Lance who was once again falling for the beauty in front of him, "Lets go inside. Raven has been dying to see you again." he said and held the door open to Lance.

 _Lance will most certainly break, that's for sure._


	6. Chapter 6 - Fox Cat

_**You taste like whiskey when you kiss me,**_

 _ **I'd give anything again to be your baby doll.**_

 _ **This time I'm not leaving without you.**_

As he stepped into the familiar, overheated apartment (seriously, why is it so hot?) Lance was immediately met with Raven who was hurtling towards him at maximum speed. With her arms flung out wide and a bright smile spread across her face, she jumped right into his arms.

"Lance!" she cried, "I missed you so much!" she said as her lithe arms wrapped tightly around him. Her face was buried in the cook of his neck, and the silky, black mess of hair on her head was tickling his nose endearingly.

"I've missed you too, princess!" he told her warmly and spun around with her in his arms. Her giggles lightened his mood and warmed him from within. _Man, he's missed her more than he thought._

"Are you guys hungry?" Keith's voice suddenly came through, breaking their shared fit of happiness.

"Yeah!" they both piped in unison, "What are you gonna make?" Lance asked, curious. _He didn't know Keith knew how to cook…_

"I dunno, what do you want me to make?"

"You'll make anything?!" Lance asked in surprise.

"No, idiot. I'm not _Gordon Ramsey_ , but I know how to cook most _normal_ meals." he answered with a furrow of his brows.

Lance frowned, "Well, then. I don't know, spaghetti?" he asked sarcastically, irritated by Keith's snarky remark.

"Alright." was all Keith replied with, "Let me just go wash up. Can't cook like this." he said and began pulling his shirt over his head. Lance caught a glimpse of pale skin and the line of his boxers but quickly averted his gaze, fighting the urge to ogle Keith's, presumably now _bare_ torso. He felt his cheeks heat up for the millionth time. Keith showed no sign of discomfort or shame what-so-ever.

"I'll be back in a minute." he said and brushed past Lance's who was fuming with embarrassment. As he walked towards the bathroom, Lance couldn't help but chance a look at Keith's bare back. _Great_ , he thought, _he's totally one of those people who look skinny in their clothes,_ he noted as his eyes grazed the well-formed muscles on his back and arms. A clear tan-line could be seen starting at his bicep. _Where and when the fuck did he manage to get a tan?_

"Lance," Raven suddenly said, poking his face, "Your face is red, are you sick?" she asked, eyes blown wide in worry.

Lance spluttered, "Wha— no! No, no! Don't worry!" he said and put her down on the floor again. She tilted her head and looked up at him in mild confusion before deciding not to dwell on it. Shrugging, she grabbed his wrist gently, "Wanna come see my room?" she asked, bright smile back on her lips. Lance just nodded, mimicking her grin with one of his own.

As she dragged him through the tiny apartment, Lance got a better look at things. The walls were in a horrible condition, ripped wallpaper hanging loosely in chunks— from what Lance could only assume was a vicious mold-attack— threatening to fall off entirely, leaving the cement-walls partially bare and ugly. There were a few shelfs in the hallway, all of them packed with heaps and heaps of…well… there was no nicer way of phrasing this: garbage. The things which littered the shelves were everything _but_ of any kind of quality or value. He reasoned that they must hold sentimental value and made a mental note to ask Keith later. On the floor were stacks and stacks of DVDs, vinyl records and books. _A lot of books._

Once they entered Raven's room, Lance was surprised to find a room void of anything you would associate with a girl her age. The walls were covered in your typical, ugly kid's drawings, but they were of no princesses or unicorns like the ones Vic usually draws for him and ma. Instead, they were passionate drawings of spaceships, aliens and stars. Amongst said drawings were posters of various sizes, all of which were either sci-fi movie posters or astronomy posters. She even had the entire solar system hanging on her right wall. The whole room was decorated in shades of blue, red and yellow, and on the ceiling bright yellow stars had been glued, the ones that shine in the dark, Lance noted.

Her bed was made to look like a spaceship, and the little table by the window was blue with tiny stars painted on it. The big, black shelf to the left of the entrance was packed with books and toys, all which had some correlation with either space or superheroes. At first glance, the room screamed 'young boy', but Lance learned early on in life that one shouldn't judge a book by its cover. Raven might be a girl, but that doesn't change the fact that she might very well be interested in things other than princesses and glitter. Yet, he was still shocked to see to which extent her tomboy-ness stretched. _Must be a result of being raised by a guy, a guy like Keith nonetheless._

Lance was left gawking in awe at the room, which stood as a huge contrast against the rest of their apartment. Looking around, he was suddenly struck by immense sadness. _Now he knows why the rest of the place looks like that…_

"Raven…" he started, surprised by his sudden and overwhelming emotions. He drew in a deep breath to steady himself and continued, "This… this is— wow. It looks awesome!" he said, waving his arms around enthusiastically, "And that bed, where did you guys even find it! I've only ever seen stuff like that in movies!" he exclaimed, nostalgia washing over him. As a child, he used to _dream_ about owning a bed like that. Raven was living his childhood dreams; sleeping in a spaceship under a sky of stars. Looking up at the ceiling, Lance noticed how Keith (presumably) had painted it in various shades of blue. There were clouds painted on it.

"Keith made it for me!" Raven answered proudly and turned to rummage through her drawer, "And he made me this, too!" she said and held up a small painting of two astronauts floating through space, hand in hand, "It's me and Keith!" she explained.

Lance just stared, his emotions overwhelming him. _This guy is full of surprises._

"Wow… Raven, that's—" but before he could finish, he was cut off by Keith who stood at the doorway, shirt halfway over his torso. Lance flushed and turned his head as Keith spoke nonchalantly, "Are you guys up for heading to the mall later? I need to buy more paint and Red completely busted one of my brushes." he muttered, frowning at the recollection of the event.

 _Wait. Red?_

"What?" Lance asked, confused, but just as the words had left his lips, a ball of red fur came into view and started rubbing itself against Keith's legs. All Lance could do was stare and wait for an explanation.

Keith stared back, confused for a moment, before he spoke up, "Oh! Right! You never saw him last time, did you?" he asked and picked up the angry furball who was fighting his grip with the intensity of a wild beast, "This is Red." Keith announced proudly, "He's horrible and hates everyone but he started following me one day when I was heading back from work and hasn't left since." Keith explained, grimacing as the furious creature in his arms tossed and turned and scratched the skin off his bones. _OH MY GOD._ _ **That**_ _explains his hands! And here Lance thought the guy was a thug who picked fights with everyone for fun!_ He chuckled at the ridiculous display in front of him and at his own, stupid misconceptions.

"Right…" he said and took a hesitant step towards the raging animal, "How the fu—" he stopped himself, suddenly remembering Raven was in the room, "I mean, how are you holding it, dude, it's gonna bite your head off!" he said but the cat suddenly stilled in Keith's arms, "He's grumpy when he's just woken up and when there's too many people around." Keith clarified to Lance who was staring with a dumfound expression plastered on his face, "The little turd adores me." he concluded and scratched Red under his chin. The cat purred in response and buried its head in Keith's armpit.

"Wha— what breed is he…" Lance started, still in shock.

"He's a long-haired Abyssinian, apparently." Keith said fruitlessly.

"Doesn't tell me much, dude." Lance replied, still confused. He took a step closer, now that the animal had calmed down, and dared a closer look at the fuming creature. Its tail was black, a streak traveling up its length and dispersing on his lower back. The fur was a bright, brown-ish red color— dense and _incredibly_ soft looking.

"Alright, is fox-cat easier for your brain to comprehend?" Keith asked mockingly, an eyebrow raised. Lance took the bait.

"As if it'd know what the living hell a 'long-haired Ambassan' even is!" he retorted angrily, "Cats are the spawn of Satan, anyway!" he added for effect.

"It's _Abyssinian,_ " Keith corrected, "and the only reason you don't like cats if because they all hate you." Keith said and turned his back to Lance, walking away victoriously.

"Oh, yeah?! Well, I'll have you know dogs _adore_ me so there, mullet!"

"Seriously? What's with you and my hair?" Keith asked, irritated. Raven giggled where she was standing behind Lance, "He called you _mullet!"_ she spat out between giggles and Lance smiled down at her, lifting his hand to give her a well-deserved high-five. Keith just scoffed and threw Red mercilessly on the couch before walking into the kitchen and angrily putting on a red apron with hearts all over it. _Who really_ _ **is**_ _this man?_

Lance was ashamed to admit that the spaghetti Keith had made was _fantastic_ , to say the least. It left him wondering how and when he had had the time to even learn how to cook, much less perfect it to this extent. _Alright, it was just spaghetti and Lance's opinion on the matter might have been 'slightly' tainted due to his longing for the man in the grossly adorable apron— but it was actually good, too!_

After dinner, they all helped clean up and got ready to head out to the mall to buy the God-forsaken paint Keith was insisting on buying _today_.

Turns out that Keith does not, in fact, own a car and therefore either takes his bike or the bus everywhere he goes. Because of this, they agreed on walking to the mall which was a short distance from Keith's place. All the while they were walking through the bustling streets of Manhattan, Lance was deep in thought regarding this entire experience. It came as a surprise to Lance that Keith was so… _warm_. Not in the literal sense— although that applies, too, judging by the heat of their apartment— but more so in the psychological sense. Keith was everything Lance thought he _wasn't_ after meeting him a few times only. Once again, he had been fooled by demeanor and appearance and completely disregarded the fact that the guy was not only _raising a child_ but doing it _well,_ too. When he found out who the culprit behind the 'bloody nose incident' was he was surprised, pleasantly so, and now completely understands why Keith lets Raven walk home alone— _the child kicks ass!_

Not only is he a real _housewife_ , basically, but he paints, owns a fluffy cat and a red apron with _hearts all over it._ Keith. The guy who looks like he could kill someone with his ears if so he wanted to!

Lance snapped out of his grumbling as he bumped into Keith in front of him, hard. He tried hard not to dwell on the sensation of his chest and hands being pressed flush against Keith's firm back, the same one he admired in secret not too long ago.

"Watch where you're going, idiot." Keith spit out, looking angrier than he sounded. Lance just scoffed, all previous admiration gone with the wind, "Maybe you shouldn't just randomly stop in the middle of the road!" he retorted.

"I stopped because we arrived," Keith said, silencing Lance, "And I did so a while ago, your brain is just slow." he added and grabbed Raven's hand, walking in through the spinning door.

"Hey!" was all Lance managed to yell after him, offended by Keith's inflated ego, but he couldn't be rude to him either, he realized. If it weren't for Keith, he would have to ask one of his coworkers for a place to crash. _Which reminded him: he has to go to work tomorrow…_

"Well, that _totally_ didn't take, like, forever!" Lance announced dramatically upon re-entering the small, temporarily-his apartment.

"Stop whining already." Keith said as he brushed past Lance's slouching form and down the hallway. Lance followed curiously and found, to his utter surprise, that their apartment had a balcony. It was small, no questions, but it was totally a balcony where Keith had neatly positioned a used easel, brushes, paint and a barely-stable stool to sit on.

Lance stood quietly behind him as he brought out supplies and added them to his already-big collection of brushes and paint. He let his eyes wander up towards the easel on which stood a half-finished piece resembling the sky between the skyscrapers right in front of him. Lance was no art-fanatic, but even he could tell the uncanny resemblance, effort and talent that oozed off the dynamic piece.

"Dude…" he breathed, "You made this?!"

Keith turned slowly towards him, eyes blown wide in shock, "I didn't realize you were here, jeez," he started, "And yes, I did." he said and looked to the side at the painting in questions, "It helps me relax. To paint, I mean…" he confessed as he added the last brush to the already full cup.

"You're amazing!"

Lance's eyes were blown wide in a mix of surprise and awe, staring intently at the violet composition in front of him. Keith fidgeted next to him but remained quiet. It caught Lance's attention, who looked up only to witness a blushing Keith nervously scratching the back of his neck. His gaze was cast downwards towards the tiled floor.

"Uh… you really think…?" he squeaked out, "You really think it's good?" he asked self-consciously. Lance just stared back at him.

After a moment of processing what had just happened, his own ears turned a crimson shade before he managed to stutter out a weak, "Y-yes! Of course, dude!" _Had he just managed to make Keith_ _ **blush**_ _?_

Keith finally looked up and smiled gently at Lance who was melting right there on the spot. _If I die now, I'll die happy._

"Alright, thanks." he finally said before once more brushing past Lance back into the apartment.

 _I can't get luckier than this._ Lance thought to himself.

Boy, was he wrong.

The day was long since over as Lance sluggishly dragged himself out of his room and towards the bathroom. His eyes burned, and his eyelids felt as if they were made out of lead. He had been turning and twisting in his bed for _hours_ to no avail. Another restless night as per usual. Ever since the incident with his parents, he hasn't been able to fall asleep without either waking up every five minutes or being pulled into a never-ending spiral of nightmare after nightmare after nightmare.

As he made his way towards the other end of the hallway where Keith's bathroom was, he stopped momentarily. His ears, as great as they were, had picked up on muffled sounds coming from Keith's room. He couldn't quite make out what they were and brushed it off as Keith having trouble sleeping like him, but as he neared his room it became all too obvious what exactly it was that Lance was hearing.

 _Moaning._

He stood paralyzed outside Keith's room, which had been left slightly ajar. _He must have forgotten to close it properly,_ Lance thought as he leaned in closer. Curiosity getting the better of him.

There, on the bed, laid Keith. The blue and white flickering light coming from his laptop was the only thing which cast any form of light on his firm, partially exposed torso. The sounds which were coming from the computer were no doubt from some form of amateur porno, hot an sultry and incredibly sexual, no doubt. Its sensual lightning illuminated Keith who was laying down with one hand carding through his long, black locks and the other slowly grazing the skin right below his navel with. His eyes were lazily locked onto the screen in front of him. The black sweats were still on but did little to hide Keith's raging boner.

Lance gulped, fully aware of the indecency of his actions yet refusing to turn. No, not being _able to_ turn. He couldn't find it in himself to rip his gaze away from the pale beauty in front of him. Lance was noticing small, new details; the birthmarks on his hips and below his navel. His heart was beating like a drum in his chest, sending violent vibrations though his entire body all the way down to his quivering thighs. He let out a silent whimper, breath hitching.

Keith's hand lower and pulled gently, teasingly at the hem of his sweaters, taunting Lance, albeit unknowingly. He held his breath, heat rising to his cheeks and traveling all the way down between his thighs, which were trembling aggressively at this point. His legs felt as if the would give in completely and the next second Keith's sweaters were finally pulled down enough so that his dick could bounce out and land erotically against his firm abs. The tip was already leaking precum, flush against Keith's navel, and it took everything in Lance not to audibly moan at the sight.

Keith's other hand found its way down to his stomach and pushed the fabric of his shirt up, revealing a pair of perky, pink nipples. Lance noted a big, deep scar over his roommate's right shoulder. As bad as it looked, it made Lance feel hot in all the right ways. Keith's fingers twisted one of the perky nipples eagerly, which dragged out a deep, raspy grunt from Keith, one that sent shivers down Lance's spine. His own dick twitched achingly in response, painfully restrained in the fabric of Lance's boxers. He palmed himself through his shorts, stars clouded his vision at the rough touch.

Lance was, at this point, not breathing at all. His gaze was completely fixated on Keith's pale torso and thick cock which was throbbing hard against Keith's pale stomach. His roommate's other hand slowly traveled towards the base of his dick, and Lance bit down hard on his lower lip as a means of not exposing himself through loud, unfiltered moaning. _He would give anything to walk in there and join him, possibly even wrap his mouth around the inviting, flushed thickness only a few agonizing feet from him. Fuck. This was exactly why he was kicked out in the first place!_

Keith's hand clenched gently around the base of his dick and started stroking slowly and rackingly but _so erotically_. His head tipped back in ecstasy as his hand swirled up and over the leaking, flushed tip. Another moan escaped his pink lips, deep and filled to the brim with lust. Lance's own hand slowly began its descending below the rim of his underwear towards his dick where it was leaking and staining the fabric. The mere sensation of being touched sent shivers through his body, his nipples perking up in response to the overwhelming stimuli.

On the other side of the door, Keith's moaning got louder and more frequent, his hand speeding up and moving expertly and familiarly over his cock. His cheeks were flushed pink from exertion and ardor, long lashes cast beautiful shadows over those hooded, violet eyes. The moaning and loving from the computer screen had long since been forgotten by the raven-haired beauty that was sprawled out, moaning and gasping on the sheets. Lance could feel himself getting dangerously close, chasing an orgasm which he feared would knock him off his feet. He prayed to whatever higher power was up there that Raven wouldn't suddenly walk out of her room and witness how pathetic and utterly carnal he was being. He licked his bruised, red lips and watched as Keith arched his back in pure pleasure. He's never been all that into gayporn or solo-plays before, but Lance was pretty sure that was about to change along with his search history. The sight before him sent waves of heat through his body, engulfing him and leaving him panting quietly on weak, wobbly knees outside Keith's door. He cursed himself for not turning away as Keith's hand stilled and his cock twitched, spilling hot white all over Keith's tightened arbs and up to his pecs, some even landing on his chin where Keith's tounge quickly licked it off. That did it for Lance, who's orgasm followed shortly after, searing hot and so, so good that he had to clasp a sweaty hand over his own mouth to prevent himself from crying out and embarrassingly exposing himself. Keith gasped and panted heavily, body slack and relishing in the after-glory of his orgasm. Lance let his eye wander over his body once more before he forcibly removed himself from the doorway and wobbled over to Keith's bathroom, this time for different reasons.

 _Fuck._


	7. Chapter 7 - Stoplight Ears

_**You took my hand, you showed me how, you promised me you'd be around.  
That's right, I took your words and I believed in everything you said to me.**_

 _ **I'll keep you locked in my head  
until we meet again.**_

As he opened his eyes and once more familiarized himself with his surroundings, the recollection of what exactly happened last night came crashing down on him. _Oh, God. What have you done?_ He hadn't meant to spy on him like that— okay, that's a lite, but he wished it wasn't. Lance wasn't a creep! Flirty, but not _a creep_ , or at least he believes that to be the case. Yet he remained there, outside his door, staring at Keith doing something so intimate and so _not for Lance's eyes_. It was a sight not meant for him, he wasn't supposed to see it and yet he had anyways, without Keith's knowledge or consent. _Great._

He craned his neck to the side and checked the rusty, old alarm on the nightside table: 6:20AM. Of course, after his previous, nightly _adventure_ he didn't get much sleep.

At least he woke up in good time for school.

Rubbing his tired, swollen eyes, he sluggishly threw both legs over the edge of the bed, only to remain sitting, staring. He let his eyes wander around the dimly lit room, from the corny posters on the walls to the antique closet and the ruffled, slightly burned rug. Next to it was a patch of black, burned floor and Lance wondered what kind of story it held. Was it Keith's doing or the tenants before him? _Probably Keith,_ he humored himself. He could at least _pretend_ that Keith wasn't the perfect human being he presented himself as or seemed as to Lance. It hurt his ego, but he would never admit that out loud. There wasn't much of a difference between them in age— Keith was only a year older— and yet here they were, two people living two vastly different lives.

Lance sighed and stretched his arms over his head, yawning. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes, which he rubbed away roughly, ignoring the stinging it provoked. He massaged his sore back for a while before reluctantly standing and walking over to the door and out into the trashy hallway, which seemed all too familiar to Lance already. Upon entering the hallway, he realized— to his demise— that Keith was already up and moving around, making breakfast in that stupid apron of his. Heavy eyed and drowsy he watched the eggs where they were frying, soaked in oil in a worn-beyond-comprehension frying pan. He was wearing the same sweats from last night, Lance realized in horror, but had changed the red shirt to a black one, like the one he wore on the day he first met Lance. _Oh, how Lance wished he could undo last night's fiasco._

Just as the thought formed in his mind, Keith turned as if on que, a tired smile plastered over his face.

"Good morning, you look like shit." he said with a grin and waved the kitchen spatula he was holding in circles, gesturing at Lance's general appearance, "Wow, thanks. I had no idea…" Lance retorted sarcastically, looking everywhere but directly at Keith. All the heat his body could physically produce was currently rising to his face, leaving his fingers and toes cold and numb. The sweats in and of them selves were enough to _kill_ any sense of morality Lance had managed to preserve. He'd rather forget last night ever happened, but oh, if it wasn't the best orgasm he's ever had— and ever will have, certainly.

"Hungry?" Keith asked innocently, pulling Lance back to the present. It caught him off guard, and his eyes met Keith's for a fraction of a second, which was enough to refresh the image of a flustered, drooling Keith with his hand entangled in his black hair splayed messily over the pillow. Lance gulped. _Please, for the love of God, don't get a boner!_

"Y-yeah…" he said after a notable, awkward silence, "Very." he finished and sat down at the table to hide his half-erection.

Keith stopped and stared at him for a second, before turning towards him fully, "You look tired, are you OK?" he asked.

"I'm fine."

"You certainly don't look fine."

"I said _I'm fine._ No need to worry."

But Keith didn't move an inch, standing tall and proud in the same spot. _Dammit, he's really got this whole parenting thing down real good, doesn't he?_

After another agonizingly long silence, he finally spoke, "If you're really that fine then how about you take care of the eggs while I get Raven ready for school?" he asked, already handing him the spatula and untying his apron. That, too, was forcibly shoved into Lance's hands.

"If I burn the house down don't blame me!" he half-yelled after Keith's retreating form, ignoring the crack in his voice.

 _God dammit. He's_ _ **really**_ _got the parenting thing down good._

Keith never switches the light on when entering Raven's room to wake her up for school. As effective a wake-up call as it is, it's just not very gentle or child-friendly in his book. He knows Raven's light-sensitive just like him, so he uses different tactics to wake her up for school.

This day, like every other day, he sat down on the edge of her bed and stopped for a moment, just looking at her sleeping face. Her eyelashes were fluttering gently, and her cheek was squished endearingly against the blue, star dusted pillow. Her black hair formed a messy halo over her head. She looked like an angel, but what must be done must be done.

With a quiet sight he gently put his hand, which was still warm from the cooking, over her exposed shoulder and shook lightly.

"Hey, princess? Wake up. Time for school." he spoke, voice hushed and raspy, gentle, so as not to shock her.

She squirmed and turned the other way, grumbling something incomprehensible.

"Raven~" he sung, raising his voice just a little bit, tightening his grip on her shoulder, "I'll tickle you if you don't get up~" he taunted, which worked.

Her eyes shot open and she turned her head towards him, squinting against the dim light coming from the open door.

"Good morning, beautiful." he said and smiled, "Time to go."

"I don't wanna go…" she whined, squirming to get out of his grip. Keith decided he had no other choice and began tickling her mercilessly, forcing out hesitant giggles from Raven. He pinched her stomach and arms lightly, knowing exactly where she's the most ticklish. When his fingers pinched gently at the baby-fat below her navel— she lost it. Raven was full on laughing at this point, tears were forming at the corners of her eyes, and Keith couldn't help but smile at the ridiculously enchanting display before him. Her hair was tangled in an incomprehensible mess around her head, and her cheeks were flushed red from the giggling. She was grabbing desperately at his arms, trying to pull them away, but she was still too weak and groggy from sleep to save herself. Her nails scratched him here and there, but he would endure anything to hear her laugh. _Shiro has been witness to this many times._

"I-"she started but got interrupted by her own giggling, "I yield!" she cried out mid laughter, "Sto- hehe! Stop! Keef!"

His smile only widened at her unintentional slurring, something very unlike Raven, "So you _do_ wanna go, huh?" he asked teasingly, to which she nodded dramatically, eyes squeezed shut and smile stretched from ear to ear, "'M Sorry!" she said just as Keith retracted his hands to let her breathe, still giggling and wheezing heavily she said, "You're evil!" and did her best to scorn at him but failed.

"Well, it worked, didn't it?" he asked and ruffled her hair even more, "Now c'mon, get up. Lance is making breakfast, or at least I hope he is." he said as Raven flung her arms around his neck so that he could carry her princess style to the kitchen.

"What's for breakfast?"

"Eggs and bacon… I hope…" he said as they neared the kitchen. Unfortunately, Lance had caught on to the less-than-nice comment.

"Hey! I heard that! And for your information, I did not burn down the house, look!" he said with a smile and wide gesture towards the half-burned eggs and bacon which had been neatly divided and placed on three plates. Keith looked up, hoping to meet his gaze, but the second he attempted it Lance's gaze fell toward the floor by the wooden table. _He clearly doesn't want to face it,_ he thought and decided to ignore it for now.

"Wow. Impressive. Only _half_ burned." Keith commented and was earned a slap from Lance in response.

"Sorry not _everyone_ is a master chef!" he retorted and grabbed his plate only to sit down at the table a mare foot from Keith, dramatically.

Keith grinned, "Oh, yeah? _Master chef,_ huh?" he said and raised an eyebrow as he sat Raven down in the chair next to his. To this Lance very visibly blushed, the red flare spreading up to the tips of his ears and down below the collar of his shirt. _He needs to work on that._ If Keith had learned one thing about Lance so far then it must be the fact that he's a useless liar and even worse at keeping quiet.

"I-I didn't mean it like _that!_ You know what— you know what I meant, jerk!" he said and stabbed his bacon mercilessly, "Besides, Hunk is a _way_ better cook than you!" he finished only half-mockingly, ears like stoplights.

Keith merely grinned and sat down to eat as well.

"Do you have work today?" he asked. An awkward silence stretched between them before Lance finally came down from it.

"I do, later today. I usually only work weekends but I asked for a few extra hours to rig up some more cash and, well, wish granted!" he explained, mocking excitement, eyes still fixated on his plate.

"McDonald's, huh…" he gave a piece of his bacon to Red who was pawing and scratching at his leg desperately, "Must be tough…"

"Well, it's not fun, that's for sure." Lance said and watched as Keith fed the now calm, satisfied beast, "Should he be eating that?" he added, finally looking at Keith.

"Well, cats _are_ carnivores, and it's just a small treat so he stops bugging me. Otherwise I'll be hairy and bleeding all day long." he explained as he scratched Red under his chin. The animal purred lovingly in response, bumping and rubbing his head against Keith's outstretched hand.

"Oh, alright…" was all Lance managed to say, eyes remaining on red as he chewed his food mechanically.

Keith could tell that something was bothering him, it was so _painfully_ obvious, and while he had a _good_ guess on what it was, it seemed as if that wasn't _all_ that was bothering the Cuban boy at the moment.

"Do you like it there?" he asked. Lance blanked in response.

"What? Where?"

"McDonald's, obviously."

"Oh…" he started, "No? Who does? Who actually wakes up and is _excited_ to work at fucking _McDonald's?"_

"You swore."

"I mean, have you ever actually fucking _looked_ at the people behind the counters there? Do they look fucking _happy_ to you?"

" _Lance._ "

"Bet you don't even—"

" _LANCE._ "

"What!?"

"Stop _swearing."_

Lance froze, realization hitting him like a wave. He blanched completely before stuttering out a weak, "S-sorry!", stoplight ears alight once more.

"Oh my God, Raven! Pretend you didn't just hear all that!" he begged, waving his arms around frantically as if trying to wave away the swearwords still hanging heavily in the air. Keith just laughed.

"Well, can't blame you." he said, to which Lance just stared at him, confused, "Sometimes I forget she exists, too!" he said and ruffled Raven's hair next to him. Raven protested angrily, swatting at his hands.

"Mean~!" she said and jammed her fingers into his ribs aggressively. He let out a pained 'oof' which made Lance laugh, thankfully.

"Alright, since you hate it so much…" wait, _was he really doing this?_

"How about you come work with me at Al Téa?" he finished, locking eyes with Lance whose cheeks were still red. _Okay, he_ _ **was**_ _doing it, huh?_

"Wha— Really?! Dude? Are you sure?" he asked, all embarrassment gone from his features, replaced instead with unfiltered relief. If his eyes never once landed on Keith minutes before, they were not intensively locked onto his. This time Keith was the one to avert his gaze, all confidence gone with the wind.

"Yeah. Totally. Allura has been looking for another waiter for ages anyway—" but before he could finish his voice was cut off and muffled by a pair of long, tan arms wrapped around hi neck. Lance smelled of shampoo and citrus and it made Keith's head spin. But he wasn't used to contact, so he pushed as gently as he could at Lance's chest, willing him to let go before he socks him on the spot.

Lance pulled back, not even bothering to be embarrassed by his sudden actions, "Thanks man! You're the best!" he said instead, a bright white smile spread across smooth, tan cheeks. _Jesus, move already before I either bend you over the kitchen table or throw you out the window._

"Alright, alright. Now let go, will ya?" he asked, swatting away Lance's arms in panic.

"When can I start?!" he asked, practically bouncing in his seat.

"I don't know, I'll talk to Allura today, but you have to promise me you'll behave." he demanded firmly to which Lance nodded enthusiastically, smile still plastered on his lips, "Of course, dude! I'm a great worker!" he confirmed and blinked innocently at Keith who wasn't believing in a word he said, but he let it slide. Worst case scenario, he gets the boot, which has _nothing to do with Keith, right?_ Right.

"By the way…" Lance started. He was scratching at a dried piece of food on the table, unsure of how to continue.

"You know Matt…" he started, hesitant, "He— he said some things and… I just—"

"If he told you I'm gay then the answer is no." Keith cut in.

To this, Lance visibly frowned. Warmth bloomed in his gut at the obvious, unfiltered portrayal of heartbreak on Lance's face.

"I'm pansexual." he finished, picking up Red and placing him in his lap for morning scratches. Lance stared.

"Wai— _pansexual?"_ he asked, probably confused as shit.

"Yeah."

"What's that?"

"Uh…" he paused, choosing his words wisely before continuing, "It basically means that you could bang anyone regardless of their sex or gender identity."

Red purred in his lap, filling the silence and mixing with the sound of Raven's cutlery scraping gently against her plate. After a long moment of nothing but silence, he looked up, expecting to see disgust plastered over Lance's face but instead he was greeted with hunched flamingo.

"Uh… are you _OK?"_ he asked, equal parts concerned as amused. Lance seemed to snap out of his trance, lip twitching and threatening to expose him.

"Uh— yeah! No, yeah! I'm totally fine, haha…" he said and scratched the back of his head. He stood up quickly and grabbed his plate before mumbling a quiet, barely audible, "I'm heading off to school…" and abruptly leaving the kitchen. Keith felt bad for him suddenly, realizing that he's equally as aware of his own involuntary reactions as Keith is.

As the door shut close moments later, Raven spoke, "He likes you!" she said happily and turned back towards Keith, "He— wait, why is your face red?"

"Shut up and eat your food, you'll be late…" he said and returned to the cold, half burned eggs still on his plate.

Their every-day routine had been completely rubbed. Something major was missing from their lives, and that something was the sun which lit up their mornings and sent the moon to rest for another day of bright smiles and bubbly laughter. The sorrow over the loss of her oldest son was not something one easily healed from, and with each passing day she missed him more and more. Nights and days have been spent thinking and pondering, wondering whether he's even _alive_. Her mind creates all kinds of scenarios in which Lance is either attacked, killed or even raped. He called her once, the day after his harsh banishing from their family home, and never again since. Marco reported having spoken to him a few times and as it turns out he only calls Marco to make sure that everything and everyone back home is doing OK. Her second is the only person connecting her to her missing son, and the only person who's capable of telling her where and how he's doing. The only one capable of even knowing whether he's alive or not. As it turns out, he's found a roommate willing to house him until he finds his own place. If only she could thank the stranger in person.

Her pondering was cut off by her own mother Luvenia as she stormed into her room. Her bones cracked and creaked in protest with each movement, audibly enough even for Isabel to hear, but the look on her mother's face showed no sign of pain. At least not physical pain…

Her heart stopped in her chest, cold sweat flooding her in seconds. _It must be about Lance_ , she thought. It's been two days since Marco Last heard from him, which worried them all, but they simply brushed it off as his typical carelessness. Now she wasn't so sure anymore.

In her mother's clammy, shaky hands was Lance's old wallet. Stickers littered it inside and out, and on the inside were all his coupons, cards, dollars and ID. Even his driver's license was there, laying snugly against a pair of sale coupons on frozen pizza. All she could do was stare.

" **Where…"** she started, wheezing heavily against the imaginary restraint around her lungs, **"Where did you find this…?"** she asked her mother, looking up to meet a pair of worried, icy, blue eyes.

" **Someone dropped it off through the mailbox this morning and ran off. I don't know who it was, but it looked like a young man a few years older than our boy."** she explained and regarded her daughter with that same painful worry etched onto her features. Isabel took out Lance's old house key and held it tightly.

" **Do you think it could be…"** silence fell between them at the taboo topic, still sensitive territory which for now only served to re-open wounds, letting memories of that evening resurface. Isabel shook her head.

" **No time to mull it over, we need to give this back to Lance somehow. Poor thing's been without a wallet all this time… "** she said and closed her eyes, absorbing the new, unfortunate familiarity of wet cheeks and a pounding headache.

" **We will, my love, don't worry."** her mother confirmed and sat down next to her, her hand rubbing soothing circles over her daughter's shuddering back.

 _He leaned in close, shoulder resting gently against the chunky door-frame. His parents were speaking audibly in the living room, arguing. It woke him up, which is how he had ended up there._

" _You can't be serious?!" his father's voice boomed, "You're_ _ **leaving?**_ _Now? How the fuck am I supposed to take care of the cubs on my own?!" he asked, fuming. His fists were clenched at his sides, knuckles whitening from the strain it put on his skin, "After… after_ _ **that**_ _, too…"_

 _His mother's back was turned towards Keith when she spoke, "It's just for a few weeks, months at most, to clear things up. I promise I'll be back in time for Raven's third birthday." she finished._

 _She threaded her long, slim fingers through the pitch-black hair and tied it up expertly in a rough ponytail. His father remained still, an expression on his face which Keith just couldn't put words to._

" _You're leaving me…" he finally said, eyes blown wide and mouth hanging agape. His arms hung limp against his sides, unmoving. Keith could see the quivering of his hands and fingers. His father's wedding ring gleamed in the faded light of the fire, dangerous but warm and inviting._

" _Not permanently, only for some time…" his mother's voice came through, rough and raspy, "Please, love, don't make this harder than it is." she pleaded, finally turning her head to look at her husband._

 _His mother's cheeks were streaked but her expression was stern, as usual. She showed no signs of her words carrying any meaning to them, but Keith could tell genuine feeling which flowed out from the depths of her heart, raw and unfiltered._

" _Don't call me love." he said and turned._

 _Keith did the same, mirroring his father perfectly down to the tears which rolled down their cheeks._

 _The next day, she was gone, and all that was left was a letter addressed to Keith, gently placed under the vase of rotting flowers on the kitchen table._


	8. Chapter 8 - Flourescent Lights

_**Like a river flows surely to the sea.  
Darling, so it goes.  
Some things are meant to be.  
Take my hand, take my whole life, too **_

_**for I can't help falling in love with you.**_

"And then he even offered to help me find a job at the same restaurant he works at! Can you believe that, Hunk?" he asked, mouth stuffed with food, muffling his words.

His friend just sighed and leaned forward on his elbows, regarding Lance with an unreadable expression.

Hunk came over a while ago to keep him company during Lance's lunch break at work. At first, he thought his friend simply felt like seeing him, despite them being in the same class, but the more they spoke the more evident it became that Hunk came here for a reason, and whatever that reason was it didn't look good to Lance.

He swallowed his food hard, quieting suddenly. Discouraged by his friend's sour expression, he opened his mouth to address the elephant in the room, but Hunk's words cut in, "Are you OK, Lance?" he asked.

"What do you mean? I'm doing great!" Lance answered, shocked at his friends change in demeanor. It was unlike Hunk, not his concern but his current state of sternness.

"I'm talking about this whole thing with you parents…" he sighed and rubbed his face, "And I get that you like Keith—"

"I don't _like_ like him! I just—"

"Not the point, Lance." Hunk cut off disapprovingly, "What I'm trying to say is that a lot of shit happened, and I'm worried you're repressing your feelings again for the sake of others." he finished and softened his expression, resting a big, warm hand on top of Lance's.

He stayed quiet for a moment, bringing his soda to his lips and taking an agonizingly long sip. Lance was at a loss for words. Thankfully, Hunk supplied, "Look, I know this is not easy for you and I— I want you to know that you can always talk to me. You're my best friend, Lance. You can always count on me." he smiled warmly at Lance whose hand was now shaking below Hunk's steady, strong palm.

"I know… but I really am fine… I promise…" he finally said, looking past Hunk's face and out of the rain-stained window behind. Greasy fingerprints littered the lower half of it.

It made Lance think of Veronica. He has neither spoken to her nor seen her for weeks now and the pain of being separated only grew stronger with each passing day. Sure, he gets regular updates from Marco, but it's not enough. Time does not— in fact— heal all wounds, Lance quickly realized. He ached to see her again, to lift her up and hold her in his arms. To kiss her soft cheeks and listen to her rambling and laughing, her stories of weird boys pulling her hair and Raven's rebellions. Seeing Raven with Keith only enhanced the pain he felt, the dull pain of losing his family. It all left a bitter taste in his mouth.

But as much as he missed them, he could only hold on and do his best in hope that one day he'll be welcomed back with open arms. One day, maybe.

"I came here for a different reason, though…" Hunk said, finally letting go of Lance's hand so that he could rummage through his schoolbag.

Lance had lost his appetite and pushed the tray in front of him to the side.

"I was gonna give you this." he said and placed a worn, all too familiar wallet on the table between them. Lance froze, eyes blown wide in surprise. _His wallet!_

"Hun—" he picked up the worn thing and opened it, looking through it only to find out that everything was exactly where he'd left it. All that was gone were a few dollar bills, "Hunk! My man, my angel!" he exclaimed happily and shot his friend his brightest, sweetest smile in pure gratitude.

"Where the fuck did you find this?!" he asked frantically.

"That's the thing…" Hunk started, breaking eye contact, "Marco dropped it off." he finished and fiddled with the discarded order-receipt.

"He said your gran found it on their porch one morning. Someone dropped it off and then bolted and all she managed to see was the silhouette of a male figure running off." he ripped the receipt in half, "He also said they're all worried about you and miss you…" he concluded, finally looking up at Lance.

 _Someone dropped it off?_

"Do you know who it could be?" Hunk asked.

"No idea…" Lance admitted. He let his gaze fall to his lap where his old wallet had been left amidst his excitement. Its worn corners and stitched sides reminded him of home, of his family. Inside were two small photographs, one of his mother and the other of their entire family. _They miss you._

Although what remained unanswered was the question of _who_. Who left it at his parents' house? Who knows where he lives and coincidentally possessed Lance's clearly, obviously stolen wallet? Not _just_ stolen but stolen by a _stranger_ none the less. What's more confusing is that the person in question, the one who returned his wallet, was _male._

He furrowed his brows in confusion, "I don't know any guy who could have both possessed my _stolen_ wallet _and_ known where I live…" he confessed to Hunk who was waiting patiently for Lance's input.

His friend sighed in defeat and took Lance's hand in his once more, "I guess it's good that you at least got your wallet back…" he said and rubbed his thumb over the back of Lance's hand, "And Lance, you know what I told you…" he said pointedly and looked up at Lance though long lashes. A single strand of brown hair came undone from the bun at the top of his head and fell over his nose. Hunk blew it away.

All Lance could do was chuckle lightly and wrap his other hand around Hunk's, "Thanks buddy…" he said, "I know I can always count on you." he agreed and watched as Hunk's face lit up in that familiar, endearing way.

"I know I have you."

After retrieving his wallet and with it his driver's license, Lance took a trip down to his parent's place, stole his own car from his own property (which he had to sneak onto) and drove back to Keith's apartment.

His little adventure left him drained and, quite frankly, depressed. Their front yard held so many memories which Lance really didn't feel like revisiting during his B&A on his own property.

He sighed as he entered the horrendously decorated door and stepped into the now very familiar, crammed apartment. Before he could announce his arrival, his ears caught onto giggling coming from the living room. Lance stopped behind the wall which separated the hallway from the rest of the apartment and peaked his head out.

Raven was giggling like crazy, half wrestling a work-ready Keith on the floor in front of the TV. She was dressed in her adorable astronaut pajamas and her hair had been braided. Messily, but it was a braid. _Keith must have done it for her,_ he thought and rested his head against the wall, sighing quietly in adoration.

She pinched and punched at Keith, who barely even flinched at the movements and instead tickled and pinched her back. Every now and then he would throw a weak punch to give Raven the opportunity to block it, and he kept pushing her gently between hits and tickles. Her giggles filled the room and the hearts of all who happened to be within, which in this case was limited to Keith and Lance. Her cheeks were flushed from exertion and happiness in equal amounts, but what caught Lance's attention— the breath in his throat— was not Raven's angelic face; it was Keith.

Keith with his hair splayed out messily on the carpet, whose cheeks were lovingly tinted and whose eyes burned with love and passion. The day he met Keith Lance thought the guy was incapable of smiling genuinely altogether, much less _like that._ His lips were spread into a wide grin, putting white teeth on display and revealing two adorable, incredibly inviting dimples on each cheek.

His words and movements, his gaze, were all gentle and loving. Lance has never seen a man, who's not his father, portray such strong and raw emotions towards another person. More than anything, he never expected Keith to be so… _gentle, caring… loving…_

Something warm and bubbly, ticklish, sprouted behind his ribs. Its growth spread through his chest and down to his belly where he could feel the gentle fluttering of petals, soft and delicate and intoxicating. Heat rose to his cheeks and spread throughout his body, and before Lance could stop it, it was over. _He's fallen in love with Keith._

He leaned away from the captivating display on the scratched rug of Keith's living-room floor, and felt his heart beating low in his gut. Its thuds came as vibrations, coursing through his body and melting his brain to nothing but slimy goo. _Fuck, I'm in love with Keith!_ Was all his brain managed to supply him with in its goo-y ness. With warmth still enveloping his every organ, every limb, he took a few deep, steady breaths and finally spoke up.

"I- I'm ho _me!_ " he announced, voice cracking embarrassingly.

Raven's giggling stopped abruptly when Keith poked his head out from the living-room area. His hair had come undone from the loose ponytail it had once been tied up in, sticking out in every direction and framing his still tinted cheeks in all the most agonizingly adorable ways imaginable. Lance took another deep breath.

"Lance, welcome home." Keith said, ghost of a smile on his lips.

"Yeah.. th-thanks.." he looked down to where Raven was standing behind Keith, giving her a bright smile and her hair a gentle ruffle, "You going to work?" he asked.

"Uh, yeah. Obviously." Keith said, knocking Lance back down from cloud nine. _Scratch that, I've fallen for a dickhead._

"Well, jeez, Mr. Grumpypants, sorry for attempting to hold a casual conversation!" he retorted, finally back to his senses enough to form full sentences.

Keith just laughed gently in return, "Well, Mr. Grumpypants over here might have just gotten you a proper job. From here on out, it all depends on how you handle the situation Friday." he proclaimed proudly and brushed past Lance to put on his shoes and jacket.

"Wait, what?" he asked, baffled, "Oh my God… You got me the job!?"

"Not really, but I arranged an interview for you this Friday and put in a few good words for you." he explained, pulling on his black leather jacket. Lance gulped.

"Really? Thanks… really, dude… you've done so much for me and you barely even know me…" he said and looked down, suddenly feeling like a massive burden.

Keith put a hand on his shoulder, bringing his attention back to his face. He smiled shyly and squeezed his shoulder once before opening his mouth to speak, but before the words left his lips the doorbell rang loudly behind him. Startling them both.

"Shit." Keith said and turned to unlock the door, "I forgot about…" he started, but trailed off as the door opened, revealing a tall, broad man on the other end. Raven squealed in excitement behind Lance.

The man's black hair was cut short except for the longer, snow white tuff on top which felt onto his forehead and partially over his eyes. He was much broader than Keith and looked both like he could and has killed a man once, both of which were only enhanced by the scars which littered his wide figure. A thick, pink scar ran across his face and nose bridge. His right arm was gone and had instead been replaced by a surprisingly high-tech prosthetic.

Lance was about to back away and hide in his room when the figure spoke, words warm and gentle and carrying no sign of ever hurting a fly.

"Oh, right, you must be Lance." the man spoke, his attention fixated on Lance's hunched figure. Lance straightened up as he spoke, "Uh, yeah, yeah! That's me, haha… Lancey Lance…" he confirmed, nervous below the intenseness that was the man in front of him. _Ex-boyfriend?_ _ **Boyfriend?!**_

His own thoughts send a pang of pain through his chest. _Of course he has a boyfriend, look at him! And a hot one, too…_

"Shiro~" Raven said and leapt into his arms. He kissed her on the forehead.

 _Shiro_ laughed, "Why didn't you tell me you had company?" he asked, question aimed at Keith who stood with his arms crossed next to him.

"He's…" a sigh, "He's been staying here and… _will be_ staying here for a while… we're roommates…" Keith finished, looking to the side in embarrassment. _He's mentioned me?_

Shiro sighed and rubbed the back of his head with his right hand before holding it out towards Lance, waiting for a handshake. Lance shook his hand hesitantly, uncertain of how to… act. The big guy spoke once more.

"I'm Shiro, Keith's adoptive brother… kinda, I guess? It's good to meet you, Lance. I've hear a lot about you." he said and shot Lance a dazzling, incredibly charming smile. _His_ _ **brother**_ _for Christ's sake…_ he mentally exhaled over the news.

"Shiro's awesome! You'll love him!" Raven assured him enthusiastically, smile never wavering once.

"I'm sure he is! It's, uh.. a pleasure to meet you… I had no idea Keith had a brother!" he said and glared at Keith who just shrugged and walked out past Shiro.

"Well, now you know." he said and zipped up his jacket halfway before turning back towards them, "Since Lance is staying you don't need to take Raven, Shiro. Guess you could stay and keep Lance company for a while?" he said, more like a question than a suggestion.

"'course! I'd love to get to know the _cute Cuban boy!_ "

Lance stopped his grimacing at Keith behind Shiro and whipped his head towards the big man in front instead, not believing his ears. _No way!_

"Wait, what?!"

"Nothing." Keith, who was hiding his face behind his long bangs, cut in, "I'm off." he said and turned, frowning.

Shiro closed the door, a knowing smirk on his lips, "So wha—"

"He said that?! Really?!" Lance asked, eyes the size of tennis balls. His face felt like it would melt off his skull any second.

Shiro stopped and physically regrouped before answering, "Uh, right. He did, actually." he said and smiled brightly, "Guess I wasn't supposed to yell that out, oops!" he said in mock regret. Lance blanched. _Keith thinks I'm…_ _ **cute?**_

He wasn't sure on how to feel about being called… cute… but it was a compliment nonetheless and a compliment from Keith to top it off. _He would most certainly return to that one…_

Lance and Shiro both settled down in the kitchen and spent a few minutes chatting and getting to know each other. Raven sat comfortably in Shiro's lap and was put to bed only when they both noticed her head had started lulling from side to side. Once she was in bed, warm and snuggled between plushies and pillows, he and Shiro sat back down in the kitchen.

"So…" he took a sip of his tea, already cold, "You and Keith are brothers?"

"Adoptive."

"Since… when…?"

"Since his father passed." he said and looked down at the cup between his hands, "I don't know how much Keith has told you…"

"No, he did tell me his parents passed." he confirmed, giving his best apologetic smile. Shiro just stared.

"What? No, not _both_." he corrected, "Just his dad… as far as we know." Shiro said, growing all the more hesitant from Lance's apparent shock over the news.

"Maybe I wasn't supposed to tell you that either…" he said, sighing and rubbing his eyes, "This is not going well for me, is it? Look, don't tell Keith I said anything… I thought you guys were closer, but I should have known my brother better…" he said, meeting Lance's gaze briefly.

"No… It's OK, don't worry I won't tell him anything." he reassured Shiro, brushing off the pain he felt at the mention of Keith not really knowing or trusting him enough. He'll have to work on that.

"Thank you, Lance." he said and got up slowly, "I'll be off then. I'm sure you could use a good night's rest." he said and patted Lance on the shoulder twice, firmly.

There was something about Shiro that made Lance feel safer than he probably should feel with a complete stranger. He even told the guy everything about what happened with his parents…

He smiled at the bulky man as they said their goodbyes. Shiro reassured him that if he needed help at any point for any reason, he could always come to Shiro who's living right next door. Lance promised in turn that he would take good care of Raven. Just like he'd taken care of Veronica.

He clutched his own head tightly, immersed in a sudden, unforgiving pain which throbbed through his skull, a vicious drilling threatening to drill him dead. He grunted audibly at the brutal agony. The world around him spun, threatening to push him off balance and send his skull soaring towards the sharp, marble edge of the bar in front of him. His hands grabbed onto the counter in an attempt to steady himself when he felt a gentle, firm hand grip his shoulder.

"Keith? Keith!?" a voice came through, muffled but familiar, "Oh my God, why didn't you tell me you're sick? Are you _trying_ to get yourself killed? Christ. Foolish boy…"

It took Keith a good thirty seconds to even register that they were moving to the employee area and even more so to figure out that the holder of the voice was Lotor whose arm was not wrapped around his shoulder, dragging him to the back area. He helped him sit down on one of the dirty, ancient couches and gave him a glass of water and an aspirin. When his head was cleared up somewhat, and he could see _one_ of each object again instead of _ten_ , he spoke.

"Thanks… Lotor."

"Don't mention it."

"I don't know what's wrong with me." he confessed, burying his head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees, "I've been dealing with this intense migraine that just refuses to leave…" he said. He could feel the slight tilting of his body as Lotor sat down next to him, rubbing his back gently.

"Have you been eating well? You're not sick, are you?" he asked, genuinely concerned both as a boss and as a friend, "Have you been to a doctor?" he added, eyebrows raised.

"No…" he admitted absentmindedly, "I can't do that right now, got other things on my hands." he concluded, finally looking at Lotor. His eyebrows were turned down in a frustrated frown.

"Typical of you. Should have known." he said and pinched his bicep hard enough for Keith to let out a loud yelp at the pain.

"What the hell—"

"Take care of yourself, Keith. You have a sister to raise and people who love you. You can't collapse on us now." he said, pulling Keith into a hug so Keith wouldn't be able to see his teary eyes. But Keith knew, he always knew. As much as Lotor hated to admit it, ever, he was a huge crybaby and arguably the most protective person he knew, even more so than Shiro.

"Thanks, Lo _turd_." he said mockingly and was earned another pinch in return, this time on his left ear. Much gentler than the last.

When Keith returned, all he could think of was his easel and his brushes waiting for him on the balcony under the dim light of the city and the single light bulb hanging from the roof of the balcony. He quickly, quietly changed into his regular paint-clothes and sneaked out onto the balcony, knowing all too well that his headache wouldn't let him sleep through the night.

The air outside was refreshing, cooling, but not as cold as it should be during this time of year. He put on a black hoodie, still, and sat down in front of his easel. Before him was a half-finished background to a painting which would be of a figure, sitting on the chair in the dim lamplight in front of him. He planned on the figure being himself, immersed in a thick book, as he does during nights like these, which have only become more frequent.

Just as his brush was about to touch white, rough canvas, the door to the balcony creaked open slowly. Lance's head peaked out from behind the curtains which hung in front of the door and windows on the inside (he likes his privacy, especially in his favorite spot).

"You're back already?" he asked, voice raspy from not having used it for a while.

"My boss let me off earlier because I wasn't feeling so well." he explained and let his gaze wander up and down Lance's slim body. His legs were exposed underneath the baggy shirt Keith borrowed him. _Don't._

"Sorry, I woke you up." he apologized, "Was trying to be quiet."

"You didn't wake me up. I couldn't sleep, had a lot on my mind." he said.

A comfortable silence fell between the two. Keith didn't know what to say, what he should say, and Lance… well, he seemed content with the silence that enveloped. All that could be heard was the bustling from the city around them. The dimmed neon lights from the advertisements and pubs outside painted Lance's tanned, soft skin in cool hues. The light above his head mingled with the blues and purples on his skin and gave it a beautiful, gentle, warm glow. _Don't._

"Do you…" _please, don't,_ "Would you wanna model for me?" he asked, ignoring his pleading thoughts. Lance's face lit up.

"Like, for your painting?" he asked excitedly, arms clenched in fists by his sides and cheeks blotchy from the cool air outside. The curtains behind the open door flew out with the gentle breeze and enveloped his limbs tenderly. Bright white and shining in contrast against his dark skin. _Don't._

"Yeah. I need a model, but I think you're actually more fitting for it than who I originally thought to paint."

"And who's that."

He sighed, "Me."

Lance grinned at him, "No friends to paint, mullet?" he asked, not expecting a reply, "Don't worry! Lancey Lance is here to save the damsel in distress!" he declared proudly, sitting down on the chair in front of Keith and his easel.

Keith just rolled his eyes, and began painting the caramel skin and soft, long limbs in front of him.

What felt like an hour passed without either of them saying a word, just sitting there. Lance's eyes were glued to the book in his lap, as instructed of Keith. He appeared to have developed a genuine interest in the book which made Keith's heart leap in his chest— it was his favorite book after all. _Please, don't._

After what felt like forever, Lance finally spoke, voice deep and raspy.

"Keith…?"

"Yes." he said, eyes switching from Lance's torso to the canvas.

"Your parents… how did they pass…?" he finally asked, voice hushed to the point where it was almost completely canceled out by the bustling city. A dog barked in the distance.

Lance seemed to notice how Keith's hands stilled because he suddenly said, "It— it's totally fine if you don't wanna talk about it! I just…" he fiddled with the book in his lap, stroking the thick edges gently, "I just want to get to know you better, I guess—"

"Suicide."

"What?"

"Suicide. My dad, he killed himself." he finally said, voice on the verge of breaking. A million emotions flooded him at the sudden outburst, dimming his visions. He willed the tears away, refusing to cry in front of anyone, not to mention Lance.

"Woah…" silence, "I'm so sorry, Keith…" he said, voice stuck in his throat.

"And your mom?"

"She left. I was sixteen at the time." he blurted out, unable to keep himself from putting his heart on display for Lance. Something about the blue in those irises drowned his heart and soul every time, its tides and waves gentle but strong, making him unable to resist its pull.

"I guess that explains a lot…"

"Sorry I lied to you." he said, guiltily, to which Lance just smiled gently, "It's OK. Can't blame you…" he said and looked out onto the city.

"I…" he started, voice catching once more, "I had an older brother once who was gay. I really loved him, a lot, and I looked up to him like crazy. He was my hero." a smile formed at his lips at the recollection but disappeared as soon as it had appeared, "Then one day my parents found out. He was devastated, angry. He walked out of the house and drove off, told me he would be back, that he was just letting out some steam." he closed his eyes. Keith caught sight of a single tear rolling down his cheek, glistering in shades of purple in the light of neon signs outside.

"He never came back." he finished, opening his eyes again and intertwining his fingers, "They told me it was an accident, that the car skidded off the road on the slippery ice, but it sounded more like suicide to me."

Keith's hand had long since stilled in front of the easel. He was overwhelmed with emotion, unable to form words. Yet he had so much to say. _I know, Lance, I know how you feel! I've seen the same, been the same!_ But nothing came out. Instead, he stood up and grabbed Lance's wrist firmly, pulling him on his feet as well. Before the lanky, sad boy could utter a single word he was wrapped in Keith's arms, tightly.

 _I told you not to._ But it was too late, Keith was already crying into Lance's hair. A strong citrus smell enveloped him as Lance's arms wrapped around him as well, hesitant and shaky but willing. Keith was a quiet crier, Lance wasn't.

"I miss them." he said, voice muffled in Keith's shoulder. His body shook and the sniffles coming from the angelic boy in his arms tore his heart in half. _If only I could erase all the things heaving on your soul, if only I could place all stars in your palms._

"I know you do."

They spent another hour on the balcony, speaking in hushed tones, looking out onto the bustling city. He looked at the boy next to him: smiling gently, talking in the dimmed light of a lively city. The fluorescent lights lit up his face and enhanced the blue of his eyes which shone brighter than the moon above.

As the city went on, and as people walked the streets outside, Keith watched the boy next to him as he told him his deepest, dearest stories. Stories of a lively household, of overly excited dogs and drooling siblings. And as the dog of his neighbors finally gave in to sleep, he realized against all odds that he had fallen head over heels for the boy from Cuba with a heart a few sizes too big and skin too soft to not trace with loving kisses.

 _You promised you wouldn't, yet here you are._

Ever since he moved into this apartment Keith's been unable to sleep properly, always for the same reason. Always because of the harsh life that awaited him, because of the stressfulness of having been abandoned with nothing but a baby girl in his arms. Every night he'd wind up on this balcony, dreaming of a life where they're both safe and sane. Every night he'd listen to the bustling of the city below, its never-ending energy and light. Now, he had yet another reason not to fall asleep at night, another reason to stay awake and listen to the comforting sounds of the city until the sun peeked through the spaced between gray buildings. Truly a city which never sleeps; a city in which he never slept.


	9. Chapter 9 - Plastic Straws

_**Tell me who you are.  
Your father has forsaken you, left you with those scars.  
My hope is that you'll make it through.  
Hate must never win, even when we're worlds apart.  
Your love is not a sin, even if it's hard.  
Even when I'm far I will always be there**_

 _ **Hold on my dear,  
I'm coming home.**_

Weeks had passed since Lance was given the job at Al Tea in central Manhattan. The job turned out surprisingly fitting for Lance and his loud, outgoing personality. Customers and employees alike enjoyed his presence and the tipping was better than expected. All in all, Lance was happy. Not only was it a fitting job, but it was close to home, not as draining as his previous workplace, and most importantly: it payed well. He could finally afford to buy himself the essentials of living, like his skincare products, which he missed so much. Keith wasn't happy to discover his cabinets and sink littered with strange liquids and creams, and let's just say that Lance's hourly bathroom occupations didn't help his cause. Though, despite his earlier protests, Keith quickly adjusted and accepted Lance's "extravagant" way of living. He can't help it after all. Unlike Keith, Lance was born a mere mortal who suffers outbreaks if his skin isn't taken care of regularly. He'd be lying if he said he hasn't spent hours staring at Keith's face during their Netflix (recently enforced) marathons in search of enlarged or clogged pores. In the end, his search proved futile. _The guy is simply perfect._

Or at least so it appears to be. Although, after having spent a few months with Keith, Lance discovered little things about the man that were pretty _nasty_.

First, he has a tendency to snap and yell both at him and Raven over minor issues or something completely mundane. It threw Lance off at first, Keith's temper that is, for it was unlike anything he's seen before. The last time he was met with temper like Keith's he'd been kicked out mercilessly onto the street. Though, that was his father, _Keith_ was a whole another story. His anger was merciless in a way that hurt both mentally and physically if you happen to be in the way. Last time he managed to tick him off a fist went flying so fast and with so much power that the wall next to his head gave in. A fist-wide hole was now left in the hallway as an ugly reminder of what exactly the guy is capable of. Lance couldn't help but wonder where all that anger— _rage_ — came from in the first place.

 _It might be a little hot, but even Lance has his boundaries— like his kinks not giving him a broken nose or a black eye, a concussion if he's really unlucky._

Not only was he apparently violent at times, but he was a heavy insomniac, too. Lance isn't too sure whether Keith is even aware of just how big of a problem that is, but his roommate has noticed. He noticed how Keith rarely ever sleeps and when he does he does so for a few hours at most. He noticed how the mullet tends to clutch his head or gasp out in sudden pain, eyes squeezed shut and showing obvious signs of aggressive migraines yet ignoring them entirely, especially if brought up. Since Lance first noticed it months ago it hasn't stopped, only got more intense in fact. It made him worry that the guy might collapse any second, though so far, he hasn't witnessed any signs of physical weakness in Keith. Lance sometimes tags along to the dojo whenever he's in the mood to watch two hot, sweaty men fight in loose-hanging kimonos— which uncover their bodies and leave pecs and abs out on display for the disastrously bisexual individual by the entrance. These frustrating, strangely sexual trips always manage to shock him beyond comprehension. The things Keith can do with his body _and_ to others is absolutely insane, especially considering his lack of sleep and overall bad mental state. Lance concluded that the dojo and his practices with Shiro are what lets Keith expel some of that inner frustration, even if Keith would never admit it.

Either way, Keith is _flexible_ and Lance regrets ever obtaining such information.

Not only was he flexible and strong— which sent the Cuban boy down a spiral of choices and preferences and mental beatings— but his body sported a few scars here and there, scars he didn't notice that cursed night…

The most prominent one is the one across his right shoulder, thick and deep. Lance was tempted to ask about it but feared he might not come out of it alive if he did. It seemed like a sensitive topic and Lance was in no position to pry. Not yet.

"Are you coming with us?" Allura's voice came through high-pitched and excited, snapping Lance back to the present. He had been scrubbing food off crusty plates when his mind went wandering someplace else. After having been put on dish-duty so many times his body has adapted to the robotic, repetitive movements.

He put away the last plate and went to dry his wrinkly hands, humming approvingly, "Are you asking me out on a date?" he asked and winked at his new boss.

When Lance first heard about Al Tea being run by a woman, he had absolutely no idea just how gorgeous said woman happens to be. Allura is tall and strong, her skin like warm coffee and her eyes striking blue unlike any he's ever seen. Her long, white hair was usually tied up in a neat bun atop her head and it framed her face beautifully. Lance had to stop and physically regroup the first time he met her face to face. Not only was she absolutely breathtakingly beautiful, but strong, independent, kind and intelligent, too. All in all, she was all Lance looked for in a woman and yet still he couldn't let go of a certain raven-haired boy with captivating sunsets for eyes and unfairly soft, pale skin. _Classic._

Allura rolled her eyes at his obvious little flirt but gave him a warm smirk nonetheless, "You know I'm married, Lance." she said, "I truly hope you're not serious."

He untied the turquoise apron, "Of course," he smiled, "Though I still don't see why you wouldn't just ditch that millionaire Kelvin Clein model for Lancey Lance." he said self-deprecatingly.

"I know, right? I must be insane." she added to the running joke, "I mean, it's not like he loves me or like I love him or anything like _that._ " she said and pinched his cheek, a smile across her lips, "But then again, I wouldn't want to snatch you away from a certain someone." she finished with a wink.

Lance flinched, heat spreading quickly across his cheeks, "Shut up! Don't say that out loud! I didn't just spill my heart out to you only for you to go around telling everyone!" he half shouted, "Might as well ask me for a microphone next time." he muttered under his breath, trying to calm his nerves and rapid heartbeat.

"But yeah, lunch sounds good…" he added, voice barely above a whisper, and glanced back at her. She smiled in return and locked arms with him.

"Alright then. Let's go."

" _Have you talked to him?" her lips wrapped around the plastic straw, liquid rose and as it did, darkened the color of the thin plastic, "Regarding your reckless plan, that is."_

 _She finally looked up at her through long lashes and hooded eyes, "No, not yet." her breath came out uneven and labored as she sat down opposite her partner. As much as she wanted to do this, it still painted her immensely. In a not so swift motion she swung her legs up, and on the table, black army-boots out on display in their filthy glory, "I don't think he'll approve."_

" _So what? You're just gonna leave? Just like that?" she slammed her glass down on the table between them, drink swaying dangerously close to the edge, threatening so spill over. Her hands shook where they lay on the desk, fists clenched and ready to strike her silly, danger-addicted partner. Somewhere next to her the faint buzzing of machines could be heard._

" _It's not like I have a choice." she said and folded her arms across her chest tightly, "I_ must _do this, Romelle." her explanation sounded winded and weak, even to her own ears, but she held her composure, "I need to fix this—"_

" _You should have fixed it years ago! Not now? Not like_ this _." Romelle cut in, voice shaky. Her eyes were glistering and tearful, "Why can't you understand how important you are to us? To me… you can't just dive headfirst into it like that! I—" her hands stopped shaking, "I need you here, with me! You can't just leave me like my brother did… whether it be for the greater good or not, who knows whether you'll even survive it!?"_

 _Her lower lip was trembling where it was stuck between two rows of white teeth. For a minute she thought Romelle would stand up and storm off, that much seemed expected if not reasonable considering her reckless plan and all it would entail, but her partner remained seated before her._

 _She took a deep breath, as if bracing herself, "You know what? Okay."_

" _Okay?"_

" _Okay."_

 _Silence fell, heavy and painful. Throbbing and vibrating through flesh and bones. Romelle's eye locked on her own, sorrowful but determined. A familiar, painfully powerful flame piercingly present in those lilac fields._

" _I know how much this means to you…" she started, voice a hushed but fierce whisper, more stable than ever, "So I won't hold you back, but you have to promise me one thing."_

" _Anything."_

" _Tell 'em I said hi."_

Hunks arms wrapped tightly around the skinny, short frame of his friend as she struggled to free herself from his strong grip.

"C'mon, Hunk! Let go!" she bit out, annoyed at her friend but not having it in her to even be mad at the big guy, "I can't breathe!" she wheezed out and at that Hunk let go, his friend falling down and on her ass.

"Sorry, sorry!" he stammered, arms flailing, and bent down. He held his hand out for the brunette only for her to swat it away, "Sorry my ass!" she said but stopped, eyebrows raised, before smirking, "Literally." she added and Hunk, naturally, groaned in protest.

Her friend sighed audibly and sat down, changing the topic with his actions alone to one much heavier. Pidge noticed the tension in Hunk's shoulders and got up to sit down opposite her bulky companion.

"Everything okay?" she asked, concerned by Hunk's change in character, but the big guy remained quiet. Her anxiety only grew with each second passing by, and so she spoke, "Is it about Lance?"

He sighed, "Is it that obvious?"

"Not at all, it was only the first thing I noticed right after your unwanted greeting." she scoffed, rummaging through her over-stuffed backpack.

The atmosphere in the school-cafeteria was as per usual rowdy and loud. Nothing on Earth could silence a hoard of sleep deprived, hormone-drugged, horny college students. People around them were talking loudly with their friends, shoveling food into their mouths and tapping away on cheap, sticker-drenched laptops. Some were less active, reading quietly by the large, stained cafeteria-windows or biting their nails in anxious agony as they waited for their newly-made friends to arrive.

She pulled out her lukewarm water bottle and took a long sip, ignoring the bland taste of body-warm water.

"I don't know, Pidge, I guess I'm just worried about him… you know?"

"Like how you were worried about him when he first moved here and he was suddenly tall and 'dangerously hot'?" she asked, knowing smirk plastered on her lips, and gulped down the rest of her bland drink.

Hunk sputtered for a moment, head swinging from left to right in frantic panic, cheeks flushed a hilarious red, "Pidge! How could you deceive me like this?!" he asked, eyes blown wide, "What if someone heard you?" his brows were furrowed but Pidge felt none of his pain and worry. Her hands were wrapped tightly around her stomach as laughter filled the air around them, "And besides," Hunk continued, ignoring his friend's giggling, "It was only for a few weeks, stop bringing it up all the time!" he said and shoved her gently but firmly, willing her to stop laughing.

She took a deep breath and dramatically wiped a non-existent tear from the corner of her eye before asking, "So what is it about then?"

Hunk let out another pained sigh, eyes closed. He appeared genuinely worried over his friend who was— from Pidge's understanding— living his best life. Well, aside from a few casualties, if you will.

"He's just," his hands brushed through his hair over his scalp, "He's just acting weird. He told me he misses the guys back at home, and I really think he does, but he's just so…" he trailed off in search for the word, "So…"

"Madly in love?" Pidge supplied with the raise of an eyebrow.

"Exactly! In love! Which is weird, because he _just_ met the guy and apparently he has some mad anger issues, and from what Lance told me he doesn't seem lik—"

"Hunk." she cut off his rambling, knowing all too well where it would lead otherwise, "You're doing the _thing_ again."

Hunk's jaw dropped, "Really?"

"Really."

"Aw, yeez…" he said, "Dammit!"

She grabbed his hand in hers and willed him to look at her before she said, "Hunk, listen. I know you're worried about him and even more so about his questionable crushes and whatnot, but you need to give him a break. He'll never learn how to fly if you keep holding him hostage in your nest of anxieties!"

Hunk bit his lip in thought, posture sagged and vulnerable, as if the slightest nudge could break him apart. Pidge knew for a fact that that was indeed the case. No one cared about Lance more than Hunk— outside of his family, that is. The two of them had grown up together, separated, then come back around to reunite in their adulthood. Nothing screams cheesy movie plot like their shared history.

The silence lingered for a moment and Pidge let it linger for a little while longer, relishing in the bustling all around them. It was getting late and as the season slowly shifted into winter, so did their days, which had grown shorter and shorter. The sun hung low in the sky, ready to commence its natural routine of falling out and leaving room for a blinding moon.

"Are you worried Keith will hurt him?" she finally asked, startling Hunk.

"I don't know, Pidge." he said, "I'm just… this is all too much, even for me! I can only imagine how he feels, _how he felt,_ and to now drag himself into a relationship…" he stopped mid-sentence, unsure of how to phrase his worries.

"So… Keith reciprocated?" she asked hesitantly.

"I think so? It looked like he was flirting with him last time I went to visit them at work. I must have cut him off mid-sentence, because he didn't look so happy with my arrival."

A pause, "I think he has feelings for Lance, too, but Lance is too far gone to even realize it. From what he's told me, I assume it has to do with his family and all that happened… I mean I'd be discouraged too— to go into a homosexual relationship right after I'd been kicked out for that specific reason!" he explained, face red with anger towards the McClain household.

Pidge just shook her head, brows furrowed, "You're right, I guess, but what can we do? We can't stop him from liking Keith…"

"No, that's not what I meant. I just… I don't know whether a relationship is what he needs right now."

"You think he should focus on fixing the issues at home first."

"Exactly!" a deep breath, "I know how much family means to him…" and nothing more had to be said. It was clear as day that Lance loves his family dearly, they're his everything, or they _were_ …

"Veronica keeps going on and on about him anytime I visit their place. She misses him… a lot."

That Pidge knew all too well, the pain of missing family. When Matt disappeared with Shiro for a month, Pidge was devastated. Her father naturally took it upon himself to find his missing son, but it didn't feel like enough was being done. Deep down, she knew his disappearance was nothing but an act of rebellion, a wish for acceptance from his parents, yet it broke her no less knowing that. She could only imagine how little Veronica felt right now. Pidge at least kind of knew where Matt was, Veronica has absolutely no idea.

"So what do you plan to do?"

"I don't know, Pidge. Maybe I should just talk to him about it…"

"Seems like a wise start." she said and smiled at the sentient teddy bear before her who returned the love with a smile of his own, weak but loving nonetheless.

"Okay, for the last time, stop squirming! I keep messing up every time you move." his fingers worker their way through locks of pitch-black hair, twisting and separating the strands.

"Sorry, sorry." she said and patted his knee half-heartedly, mind locked on the phone in her left hand.

He sighed and continued working his way down the length of his sister's hair. It took him a whole year to learn how to properly braid hair, all for her sake, and this is how he's repaid. _Classic._

He finished the somewhat-wonky braid and tied the end with a pink hair-tie. As Raven turned and twisted in awe in front of the small mirror, the doorbell rang. She immediately jumped to her feet and leapt towards the door where a lanky figure stood, tan hands clasping a still warm box of what Keith assumed was takeout from his previous job.

"Lance!" she squealed and ran headfirst into his torso, to which he let out a pained 'oof' and a cough before smiling and wrapping his free arms around her thin frame.

"Hey there, paladin!" he greeted and patted her head, noticing the braid, "Did you do this?" he said and took hold of her hair admiringly, "No. Keith did it!" she said and turned twice, braid swishing through the air, "Isn't it pretty?" she asked and posed for a mildly shocked Lance.

"Uh, yeah! Of course…" he said, awe plastered all over his features, "Guess your bro really does know how to do everything…" he half whispered, attention elsewhere.

"Could'a said that a little louder. You shy?" Keith cut in, startling Lance out of his momentary daydream.

A blush spread across his dark cheeks, "Wha— I'm not, I was just—" he cut off and reached into the box instead, pulling out a cup and a straw and handing it to Keith, smile spread wide across his cheeks, "You need to try this! It's my favorite milkshake!" he explained excitedly and waited for Keith to take a sip.

All he could do in return was stop and stare. _Fuck, he's screwed._

"I— uh…" he started, unsure of how to explain himself. He eyed the drink wearily and only turned his gaze towards Lance when he the boy shuffled awkwardly before him, his eyes cast downwards, and that bright smile gone from his lips. _Fuck!_

"Thanks—"

"It's OK, you don't have to—"

"No, no, I insist. Thanks, Lance. Really." he assured, "I bet it's great." he finished with a smile of his own, one which Lance returned, albeit hesitantly.

Keith lingered, unsure of what to do to brighten the mood. He opted for something classic, something he knew Lance loved dearly— movies.

"Hey, uh, you up for a movie marathon?" he asked, eyes still locked on the death-wish in his hands.

To this, Lance lit up once more, the milkshake fiasco long forgotten, "Yeah! Obviously!" he said in mock offense and threw off his shoes, already rushing towards their now shared living-room.

It was strange at first, to say the least. Keith wasn't sure of how to act or what to say with a stranger in his apartment. Well, stranger might be a stretch, since they've gotten to know each other pretty well over the course of a few month or so, but Lance was a new face to him nonetheless. It frightened him how he broke down his walls with such natural ease, as if I'd been made of cards, not bricks, like he thought.

But he grew accustomed, needy even, with Lance around. Anytime the Cuban stayed out late or worked overtime he got antsy and sometimes even jealous, jealous of his friends and even Keith's own coworkers. He'd seen how Lance had reacted to Allura, and it didn't look good. Lance is an outgoing person, naturally, he attracts attention and with that attention relationships. Friends. Admirers. Enemies, even— and all that attention, all those relationships, usually resulted in late nights and busy weekdays. All in all, Keith spent much less time with Lance than he would have liked to. Despite this Lance had still managed to make him spill everything, to lay his feelings out on the table in front of him. He even modeled for his painting, which in Keith's world was a sensual, intimate action.

Lance had crawled his way under his skin somehow, and he wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. Hell, the apartment had started looking more like Lance than Keith at this point. He took it upon himself to help Keith renovate the place to the best of their abilities, which included fixing walls— and AC systems. ("Seriously, why do you live in an oven? And that's coming from a Cuban!") he had whole-heartedly complained.

He took a seat next to Lance, another thing he'd grown accustomed to, and took a slow, regretful sip of the demonic beverage in his hand. Lance had already set up a movie on the TV and was stuffing his face with various cancerogenic substances ('food').

"You know, for being so high maintenance and skincare and all, you care very little about what you consume." he stated, gazing at the soft skin before him, blemish free and perfect as per usual. Something in him made him want to mark it, bite into the soft flesh on his neck, though that would probably get him knocked out.

Lance scoffed, "What are you, my mom?" he asked, hurt overtaking his face for just a fraction of a second, "I know it's shit, which is exactly why I eat it. Maybe I _want_ to die early." he finished, voice lowering.

Keith flinched, unsure of how to respond. He hadn't meant for the conversation to take a turn like this, neither did he expect Lance to admit to thoughts like that so… casually. On the TV in front of the due, two characters spoke through the silence which enveloped.

"Lance—" but before he could continue, Lance cut him off, "I'm not suicidal or anything, you don't have to worry." he said with a sigh, hands trembling.

His guts twisted and turned at Lance's words. He seemed so broken, beaten. Maybe _too broken_ to even admit to his own sadness, to his own violent thoughts. Keith knew this process all too well. Shock— denial— acceptance— execution (which is, conveniently a pun as well).

"I just…" he started, scared of where this conversation was going, "I just want you to know that you're not alone. I know we've only known each other for this long, but I really do like you, Lance. Regretfully, so, but it's the truth." he said, voice trembling. He'd never been good with words; Keith spoke in actions. Right now, he had to say something, he had to make him understand.

Lance gasped, hand on his chest, "What do you mean _regretfully?_ Anyone would love to be my roomie." he stated proudly before his posture sagged and all his bravado was gone with the wind once more, "But thanks, man… I…." he trailed off, "I really appreciate it."

Had it not been for the way his voice cracked, Keith might have never noticed the tears which welled up in the Cuban's eyes in the darkness. Everything hurt, and his guts flipped once more. There was no greater agony— he concluded— than seeing Lance McClain in tears.

"Lance…" he said and rubbed his hand over his back gently— steady, circular motions— but the boy's tears didn't stop. Knifes went through his chest and stomach, twisting and rubbing against flesh and bone.

"I don't know what to do, Keith," he sniffed, eyes red-rimmed and tired. Keith observed the way his lip quivered, the way tears streaked his cheeks and glistered in the TV glow, "I miss them, Keith." he said and leaned in close, head on his shoulder. It was like everything he'd held inside for weeks was finally spilling, reaching a point of breakage. This close, Keith could smell the shampoo he used— citrus, probably. Either way, it was sweet but strong, kind of like Lance, and _so consuming._

Slowly, hesitantly, he lowered his hand to his slim waist and pulled him closer, face nuzzled in the brown locks atop his head. He knew all to well how painful this must be for Lance, especially considering how big of a family he has. To think that not one of them reached out to him— that's bound to sting like a bitch— and to then have to watch Keith with Raven, their life together and their happiness… _how dumb is he? How could he have just ignored it when it was so painfully there all along?_

The Cuban shook in his arms, frail and small and so much skinnier than when they first met. His broad shoulders had shrunk along with his dignity, his strength. It was so clearly torturing him all this time, yet Keith completely ignored it. He even lashed out on him like his father must have done. He beat himself over it mentally, shocked over his own incompetence and insensitivity.

He gulped once then twice, hands shaking. Keith knew what he wanted more than anything, what he hope would shine a light in Lance's darkness even if only for a fraction of a second. He was no good with words— always messed up— but if this boy in his arms needed to know anything then it would be just how lowed he is, despite it all, and Keith was good at showing. So, with his heart in his guts, he pulled away gently and placed a palm on the side of the crying boy's face. He swallowed hard and drowned himself in clear-blue skies, lingering for long enough to give the man some space for thought, before leaning in close. As warm lips touched his, sparks truly went flying, like electricity through his veins they warmed him from inside and out. Like sunrays in summer it grazed his skin and made him warm and sweaty, relaxed his muscles and heated his cheeks.

For a moment, nothing happened, then the kiss was returned. The man in his arms pushed closer, parting his lips and allowing access into so much more than just his mouth. Keith willingly followed, lapping his tongue with his own and savoring every second, every touch of Lance's hands where they roamed on his chest and shoulders. Every now and then they'd squeeze a muscle or scratch sensitive skin. As sweet, hungry moans left the Cuban's lips, Keith knew he wouldn't be able to hold back, but that had to be for another time because the pain in his gut broke them apart.

Panting and with glazed, bedroom eyes, the boy in his arms watched him, "What's wrong?" he gasped out.

"Lance." he started, pain overtaking any arousal he might have felt, "Lance, I'm lactose intolerant…" he said and squeezed his eyes shut in pain.

Lance stopped, then backed off in panic, "What! Why didn't you tell me—" he started, "Oh my God, you big idiot! I told you you don't have to drink it! You could have just told me, stop playing gentleman when we both know you're—"

"Lance. Not now." he said, but before he got up he placed one last peck on the flustered man's lips, "Once I'm not dying anymore, I'll definitely continue where we left off." he said and got up, leaving behind a beet-read Cuban whose tears were long forgotten.


	10. Chapter 10 - Streaked Cheeks

_Eyes like a car crash, I know I shouldn't look but I can't turn away.  
I watch you like a hawk, I watch you like I'm gonna tear you limb from limb.  
Will the hunger ever stop?  
Can we simply starve this sin?_

 _And on my deathbed, all I'll see is you._

 _The life may leave my lungs, but my heart will stay with you._

Let's just say no 'love making' ever took place. As luck would have it, Keith received a very important phone call shortly after getting cock-blocked by his own guts. Which is what left Lance with no other choice but to go out for a walk in the cool October air.

Manhattan was bustling and lively as usual, nothing big enough to qualm its intensity. On nights like this the city felt far too big and busy to ease his nerves.

Can you blame him? He just experienced what was arguably the best kiss he'll ever receive, and it was Keith of all. _The_ Keith. The boy with sunsets for eyes and night-skies for hair, the boy whose skin is so soft and pale you want nothing more than to mark it as yours, paint it in shades of red and purple.

As he walked the grey roads amongst greyer buildings he realized hopelessly how badly he'd managed to fall this time around. It was no game, no joke. He was falling hard and fast for a boy so beautiful it left him completely breathless, like an asthmatic without his inhaler. The things he'd do to finish where they'd left off.

He sighed and buried his hands further down his pockets, trying his best to keep them from shaking. Hours had passed since the fated incident at their apartment, yet his face remained burning with passion and undying desire. The same desired he's been trying to damn hard to hide for so long. Had you told him months ago that the same stranger who seems so completely out of reach would be the one to kiss him passionately on his own couch, he'd never believe you, not even for a fraction of a second. Maybe it was his low self-esteem, or maybe it all stems from years of repression. Either way his denial was going strong— until Keith kissed him. Out of the blue, on his own accord, his own free will and desire— and Lance felt every last bit of it. He felt the way those lips burned feverously against his, the way his hands shook where they grasped his cheeks, the way his tongue worked as if terrified of losing him for even a second.

 _Dreamy_ doesn't even begin to describe him.

But amidst his looped thoughts of reflection and self-discovery, Lance's phone rang loudly in his pocket, disrupting his daydreaming.

"Ye—" he coughed, "Y-yeah?"

"Lance, we need to talk. Are you free right now?" Hunk's voice came through, quiet but determined. He knew from personal experience that every conversation that starts with 'can we talk' never actually ends with any form of talking.

This couldn't be good.

"Uh… yeah…" he said, "Sure. What's up, buddy?" he asked, masking his fright as well as he could.

"Look, Lance, I don't know how to say this, so I'll just get right to the point: you need to talk to your parents."

Seconds ticked by painfully. His left hand remained still in his pocket, cold to the bone.

"My… my parents? Why?" he started, "Did you tell them anything?"

"What— no! Nothing like that. I just..." sigh, "I just don't want you to hurt anymore…" his friend admitted. The hurt tone in his voice made Lance want to cry.

"I can't just… what do you expect me to say? 'Hey mom, dad, won't you accept me even though I've not only been lying to you my whole life, but also my lifestyle is clearly going against everything you believe in?'"

"Lance—"

"'Or how about I tell you about the time I dated a guy for a whole two months before he violently broke off with me?'"

"Lance!"

"'No, wait, I have a better idea! How about I tell you about how the guy I've been rooming with had his tongue down my throat and promised to fu—'"

"Wait, WHAT?"

 _Maybe he shouldn't have said that,_ his brain supplied a little too late. Hunk was quiet on the other end, frozen in shock and confusion, and rightfully so.

"I… uh… so, Keith kind of kissed me earlier…"

The heavy silence remained, haunting.

"Just like that?"

"Yep."

More silence, then a heavy exhale on his friend's end.

"Jesus… so, are you guys, like, a thing now?" he asked, and Lance could practically see the furrow of confusion in his friend's brows.

Lance went to answer but closed his mouth. _Were they a thing now?_ What did all of that mean, really? Was it something Keith did on impulse, out of pity? Or were his feelings truly being returned by the man of his dreams? Hunk waited patiently on the other end of the line, expecting a reply, expecting Lance to have a clue about what the hell was going on.

It settled like a weight between his ribs and pulled like a noose around his neck, the realization that Lance had absolutely no idea who Keith was or how he felt about him. All they've been doing since Lance moved in, since they took that first step, has been to talk about Lance and his issues. Lance barely knows anything about Keith or his mental state. Why was he such a heavy insomniac? What drove him to punch through walls and break ribs?

Not only that but Lance's life in general was currently one massive question mark. Does he even know who he is anymore? His family, how are they dealing with his disappearance? Does he even matter to them, or was his disappearance long awaited?

He swallowed the heavy lump stuck in his throat.

"I don't know." He croaked out, "He went to work almost immediately after… I didn't get a chance to talk to him…" he said, so quietly it was almost lost in transmission, a quiet exhale in a screaming city.

Hunk heard him.

"Are you OK…?"

He didn't know how to answer that. _Was_ he OK? Has he ever been truly OK?

"I don't know." He repeated, thoughts stuck in a circle of questions upon questions.

Hunk took a deep breath, as if to say something else, but Lance decided he wouldn't have it, "Hunk, buddy, listen," he started, successfully cutting of his friend before he could say anything to change his mind, "I love you, and I appreciate your concern, but I'm fine, OK? I just need a breather. I'll call you back tomorrow, alright?"

The line went dead silent, nothing but city-bustling could be heard and the muffled sound of a TV on the other end of the line. He concentrated all his energy on it, just barely making out something about an ongoing celebrity scandal. The familiarity of it grounded him in the moment, kept his mind off the pounding in his head, the ringing in his ears. He felt like throwing up, and the world around him felt as if it was spinning off its course.

"Alright." Hunk's voice finally came through, "But if you need me— at any point, Lance— please, call me." He pleaded and then hung up.

Lance stood in place and tried to still his reeling heartbeat. Distantly, as if enclosed in a glass-casket, he could make out the beeping of the dead phone-line, coming from the phone still plastered to his right ear.

He could feel his pulse in his ears, all the way down to his fingertips, but it was nothing pleasant. It made him nauseous. His brain felt like a poorly mixed shake, chunks of brain matter sloshing around inside his cranium.

In a weak attempt to regain control of himself he backed, aiming to reach the concrete wall behind him, but instead of meeting cold, hard cemented surface he was met with a warm firmness. Not quite as soft as a pillow, but not as hard as concrete, either. He could hear his name roll off the tongue of foreign lips, a voice he distantly remembered. A familiarity settled into him once more, and the world stopped spinning. Warm hands wrapped around his fragile form and enveloped him in warmth and comfort. He knew he should back away, push, punch— anything, but he remained still. He let himself get dragged away to a nearby car, grey and black and familiar.

As he sat down in the passenger seat, and the door shut closed next to him, his eyes refocused and his breath caught in his throat. _What the hell are you doing, get out! You're getting kidnapped, for Christ's sake!_ But before he could act on his panicked thinking the door opened and a man sat down in the driver's seat next to him. Lance could still feel his heart in his throat, but he calmed just a little when he realized who it was. Well, that same calm was quickly turned into anger. _Ross._

"You OK?" he asked, not looking directly at Lance. His blond hair was braided messily, resting against the small of his back, "You seemed kind of out of it out there, wouldn't respond to your name…" he continued after getting no answer from Lance. He turned to look at him, but this time Lance was the one to break contact. His hands shook where they rested on his equally shaky knees. His muscles felt sore, worn, and he wanted nothing more than to go home and roll himself up in a billion blankets softer than feathers.

"I'm fine, thanks. Sorry for the trouble." He said and reached for the handle. A soft click sounded, and the handle wouldn't budge.

"Let me out."

"Lance— listen—"

"Let me out."

"I'm sorry, but I have to talk to y—"

"Let me out!" he yelled, loud enough to startle his captor into a sudden silence.

He yanked aggressively on the handle as long-repressed tears fell and wet his cheeks. The absolute last thing he needed right now was more questions, more confusion, more drama. All he wanted to do was go home and sleep until he dies. Whatever takes him first, hunger, thirst or pure agony over whatever the hell was happening in his life. First his parents, then Keith and Hunk, and now Ross? What next, a hostile alien lifeform attacks Earth and abducts him? At this point, it didn't seem very unlikely.

"Lance, please, listen to me! I have something important to tell you!" Ross tried, but his pleads were muffled by Lance's screaming and frantic flailing.

Eventually, he'd had enough, and grabbed the frantic boy by the shoulders, turning him to look at Ross directly. Their eyes met and for a brief moment he was reminded of times when there'd been endless chemistry between them, a match made in heaven he had naively thought. _Oh, how wrong he was…_

"Please." He started, breathless, "Just listen to me for once." He said and eased his grip on the Cuban slightly.

He took a deep breath and steadied himself, "Did you… did you get your wallet?" he asked, and Lance blanched.

"My—" his eyes blew wide in shock, confusion, "You. _You!_ **You piece of shit,** you were the one who stole it!" he barked and pushed at his captor's chest roughly. _He should have known._

"What— no! Not me! Nymja!" he shouted back, blocking Lance's weak hits and slaps.

It worked, for the boy stopped, "Nymja?" he heard himself asking, "Who's Nymja? Did you send her?!"

"No! She's my sister, I— I didn't tell her to do shit! She had no clue who you are, she was just looking for food-money!" he tried explaining, voice breaking midway through his sentence.

"Listen, I wasn't gonna tell you, but I feel like you deserve to know. I was a jerk towards you, can't blame you for hating my guts, but at least let me tell you why." He finished and looked up, blue eyes meeting his, wide and distant.

Lance's hands were clenched into tight fists on his thigs, trembling.

"Okay…" he croaked out and listened as heavy raindrops fell against the roof of the car. Water streaked the windows and glistened in the moonlight.

Ross took a deep breath, "I really loved you." He said, eyes not wavering. Silence fell, and Lance held his tongue, captured it between rows of teeth so as not to speak what was currently on his mind. _I did too._ But now? Now Ross was nothing but a past tense, a _was._ A _could have been._ Now, his thoughts filled with memories of soft, black locks and violet eyes. Of warm lips and gentle, calloused hands roaming his body tentatively. Of a husky voice and tender words, words made for him only, uttered for his ears only.

Ross was nothing but a past tense to him, and whatever he was waiting so patiently to hear— he would never get.

When no answer— no reaction— came, he continued, "But I was also jealous. Jealous of all the things you were, of the options you had. You have a whole future in front of you, while I'm left to pick-pocketing and stealing." He bit his lip, gaze roaming Lance's face, looking for some sort of signal— a signal, a sign he would never give.

"But there was one thing you never had: acceptance. You used to complain about it— how homophobic your parents are and everything— and I remember being _so angry._ " Lance felt his heart clench in agony, he wanted out, to run before this got to where he feared it was going, "I remember thinking how I would have easily given my identity away if I could have just had what you have: a future, a proper home, money."

He paused, noticing the rising tension in Lance's shoulders where his hands remained, but despite it he continued.

"So, I acted in anger. I broke your heart and became a jerk, bossed you around. I wanted to have what you had, so desperately! But I regretted it. I regretted it so badly, Lance, I still do. I wish I would have stopped there, but I didn't!" he took in a shaky breath, his hands gripped harder on his shoulders, "I did it. I called them, I told them everything. I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, Lance! I—"

But before he could finish a fist connected to his jaw, cutting off the remainder of his weak attempt at an apology.

Lance was _furious._

Blood boiled in his veins, thoughts stuck on a loop of _"You ruined my life"_. Another punch connected with Ross' face, this one successfully breaking his nose, making him bleed. _Good,_ he thought, _suffer— suffer like I did._

Then he stopped. He stopped and looked at the mess he'd made, at the way blood clung to his knuckles and ran down Ross' lips. He wasn't resisting, just sat there and took punch after punch.

"What the hell is wrong with you…"

The question came out more like a statement, an observation. Barely above whisper volume, he continued, "I loved you."

"And I love you, I still do! Lance, please—"

"I trusted you with my life! I gave you my everything! I was ready to give you my virginity when all you wanted was to steal it!" his voice was breaking horribly, high-pitched and rough, "You stole my first, real, kiss and broke my heart when all I wanted was for you to love me! I thought that if I had you I could get through anything, I was even considering telling my parents because I wanted them to love you as much as I did!" he could feel the breath leaving his longs again, the world spinning, "And what did I get in return?! I got outed! Outed! By the one person I loved above everything, to the people I would kill for! They hate me, Ross, and it's all your fault!"

"You have no idea how it feels to be someone else, to live your life in the sleeve of somebody else— someone you're not. I hated myself every second of every day, wanted nothing more than to flee the country to someplace where I could feel loved and accepted. I thought I was a freak, a sinner!" his jaw clenched and somewhere deep inside his heart and head, he could hear a faint voice begging him to stop, "I was hated by the same people that are supposed to love me endlessly. Had to listen to their venom on a daily basis, and you're telling me you would _gladly_ switch with me?! Well, by all means, do! Do! Because I would do anything for my dad to love me. I would rather be a homeless rat, dying in the street, than hated by my own family." He finished.

His nose was runny and clogged all at once, and his heart felt as though it was about to beat out of his chest. It ached where it thumped behind his ribs, sore and bruised.

Grabbing a hold of his shirt, he pulled him towards himself— roughly, "I _adored_ you. _I trusted you."_

He felt their warmth before their wetness, felt the way they streaked his already flushed cheeks the way the rain streaked the cold hard glass window. He was crying now, ugly tears staining his face and dripping down his jaw.

"Lance…" he started— _croaked_ , "I love you. I really do! I'm so, so sorry for the things I did but I promise you I'll be better! Please, I'm begging you. Give me a chance to prove it to you!" he pleaded, eyes filled with tears. Lance wanted him to cry.

"No, Ross." He said, voice firm and clear. Tears had stopped falling. They were not made for him, not made to be wasted on people who never knew how to love him, "No, Ross, because I've found someone else." He said and locked eyes with the pleading man, watched as tears finally rolled down his face. His gaze stayed locked on Lance, not even flinching, _accepting defeat._

Without another word, another glance, he unlocked the door and stepped out into the cold rain.

After a few dials, Hunk picked up.

"Lance?"

"Can I come over?"

"Of course."

With ringing in his ears and a furious migraine he exited the club and walked out into the cold air and rain. It was pouring, thunder sounded far off in the distance, and his hoodie and shoes were quickly soaked.

 _I shouldn't have done that._ _I'm making everything worse. I'm being selfish again. What if he hates me now? What if he never felt the same way. Was I being delusional? What the hell would he even see in someone like me?_

Maybe it was the darkness outside, the chill of the wind. Or maybe it was the Thing at the back of his head, the one which clawed on his brain and ate away on his heart. Whatever the reason, he felt like leaving.

 _Maybe they were right, maybe I should have gotten it over with a long time ago. It would have spared Lance._

He shoved his hands further down his hoodie and shivered at the sensation of soggy clothes mixed with dry, cracked knuckles. His skin stuck to the fabric where it brushed against it and he gagged.

 _He's way to good for you. You should have talked to him like a normal person, should have comforted him and told him how beautiful he truly is, but no. You had to do the one thing you shouldn't have done. You had to remind him of why exactly he was in the situation he's in. You had to crawl under his skin like a disease and ruin any chance he has for a bright future. A family. Did you do It on purpose? Did you drag him down like that, so he could fall to the pits with you? You're disgusting. No wonder she left._

His eyes burned, not blinking, but he refused to let them fall— refused to be a weak little bitch. What did he have to cry for, anyways? It was all his own doing. On wobbly knees he slowly made his way towards 5th avenue, but the Thing didn't stop.

 _Don't you dare go home, pile of garbage. Do you really think you deserve a warm home after everything? Someone— no, some_ thing _— like you? You should have died that day, last year. Should'a pulled the trigger properly, but you couldn't even do that, could you? Who else are you gonna ruin the way you ruined Shiro, the way you ruined Lance? Allura? Lotor? What about Pidge, and Hunk? I bet they hate your guts._

He closed his eyes and strode on, bumping into pedestrians along the way.

"Please," he whispered to himself, "Please, stop…" he said.

Then, his thoughts were cut off by loud honking, a flash of bright light, and then— he was weightless, soaring through the air as if gravity ceased to exist.

When a loud crack vibrated through his chest and skull, and his vision went black, his last thought screamed in victory. And before his body fell into silent calm, the last word on the tip of his tongue was the name of a boy not loved enough.


	11. Chapter 11 - Tracing Lips

_You are mine, 'til the end of time.  
I don't care what we're going through, 'til the end my heart belongs to you._

It happened so fast he barely had time to react.

A screech, a bright light, Shiro's worried voice on the other end of the phone, and then a body— hitting asphalts with a loud, bone cracking thud.

The city stopped and paled before him. The one thing he wanted— desired— more than anything was lying there on the ground, a red puddle quickly forming around his head like the halo of a saint. All life and lust sucked out of his cheeks and skin.

"Lance? Lance?! Are you OK?! Lance, what's going on?!"

People were surrounding him now, looking down in various states of worry and panic. The driver jumped out of the vehicle and ran over to the front, nearly fainting at the sight of the young man he'd just hit. Undoubtedly, that image would be burned in his mind for the rest of his life. Without thinking, Lance dropped his phone and dashed towards the commotion— heart in his throat.

 _This can't be happening. I must be dreaming._

But as he approached and got a good look at the body, the state he was in, his vision blurred. It was real. Horribly, terrifyingly, traumatizingly real— because there he was, laying lifelessly on the ground before him. His limbs still, unmoving and broken beyond repair.

Lance bent down. He could feel the quivering of his lips, the way his heart ached with every beat. A lump had formed deep within his lungs, limiting his already labored breathing.

His thoughts stuck somewhere else, a time and place of tranquility and bare pleasure. The remainder of his rationality refused to surface, pushed down by the weight which enveloped, choked into silence. His heart refused to see what his brain knew all too well. He knows what this looks like, what a gone person feels like.

People around stopped and observed. On the other side of the glass wall he could make out the sound of people muttering, gossiping between themselves as if it were a mere theatre performance or public stunt.

"Must be a friend…" and "…poor thing…so young…".

Some held onto their phones— diligently recording the ordeal and everything it meant. Recording Lance's fragility, his most vulnerable breaths. He knew what the internet is capable of, knows all too well how this will end— with unwanted exposure, a mother and a father who will stumble upon the tragic state of their once-son as he's bent over, wailing in pain and agony.

And they were right. He was too young. Too young to end so abruptly. Too young to leave Raven like her parents did. Too young to leave _him_.

His mind filled with memories, recollection of his laughter and the way he smiled so warmly whenever he held Raven in his arms. The way his brows furrowed when he couldn't decide between mint-chocolate and strawberry ice cream. The way his hands held so gently, and the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks. The way he loved so strongly, so passionately. The way his nose crinkled when he snorted mid laugh, and the agonizingly gentle strokes of his brush on white canvas; painted and handled so delicately you'd confuse it for a life-long lover in a hospital gown.

 _All of it gone in the blink of an eye. Wiped clean off the face of this Earth, as if it was never meant to be._

He would never get a second kiss. He would never get a confirmation on what they were, who they were to each other. Would never hold him in his arms or watch him as he blanks out whenever someone openly flirts with him. He would never get to listen to his voice or feel the warmth of his arm as they sit side by side. No more movie nights. Never see his eyes, not once more. Never learn what he doesn't know about him.

Suddenly— as if _he_ was the corpse in his arms— everything flooded at once. His cries could be heard for miles, loud and ugly and echoing the cracking of his heart breaking in his palms. He held him close, felt the way his skin was cold and clammy against his neck and hands, the way his blood mixed with his tears and sweat and stained his already drenched clothes.

 _Not again. Please, don't leave me. Not you too._

Someone was stroking his back, half-heartedly trying to make him stop crying. He could hear the muted sound of an ambulance approaching in the distance but feared its arrival— didn't want to let him go.

People were talking to him now, pulling at his arms and trying to snap him back to reality.

Yet he kept on crying and crying, felt as his tears mixed with the heavy rain. He would forever hate fall, despise it for all it is and ever was, for it took from him the one person he loved so sincerely, so unfiltered.

This boy in his hands whom had never known love, never known how it feels to be adored to death— was leaving it all once and for all, withering away in the nail-wounded palms of his admirers' hands.

Then, his world tilted. A rough hand grabbed a hold of his shoulder and dragged him away from Keith's lifeless form.

His back hit a strong chest, arms grabbed a hold of him so roughly he thought he might break under the pressure. But something about it felt incredibly familiar, warm. A sense of déjà vu washed over him.

He stopped and let his gaze land on Keith's body where it was being manhandled by the paramedics. Then it clicked.

 _Matt._

Like a cassette but on reverse, a blur of colors and the sound of static, everything suddenly made sense and his world stopped spinning. Instead, his lungs gave in. No matter how much he tried and flailed around, no matter how much he pushed, no air reached them.

"Lance! Lance!" Matt's voice came through to him, distorted but audible, "Lance, you need to calm down! Look at me! Look at me, Lance!"

He grabbed his jaw and turned his head roughly to the side where blue met panicked hazel.

"It's OK, Lance! You're OK! Everything will be fine! Keith will be OK! We got him!" his friend tried assuring him, but words fell on deaf ears.

"He's dead, Matt."

It sounded awful, raspy and full of ugly emotions. His stomach flipped, threatened to spill its contents all over himself and Matt. He tried pushing away, but Matt's arms remained wrapped around him; an anaconda around its captured prey.

He shushed him and started rocking from side to side, stroking Lance's hair as he did, and whispered reassurance in his ringing ears.

"It's OK. It's OK. You're OK. It's just a panic attack, everything is OK. He's not dead, Lance, just badly injured." He said, holding him tighter. His voice sounded almost as fragile as Lance's.

With what little energy he had left he let his gaze fall on the paramedics crouched around Keith. He looked eerily calm soaked in his own blood.

It reminded him of something akin to comfort, acceptance— _relief_.

 _Her last day out was spent packing for the coming journey. Everything of necessity was shoved into her bag and backpack. It would be heavy, and her journey would be long, but it would all be worth it in the end. She knew that much._

 _From her pocket she pulled out a picture, old and torn at the edges. Her eyes grazed soft cheeks and lovely eyes squinting against bright sunlight. A heavy sigh escaped, and she went to put the picture someplace safer when the door behind her clicked open._

 _It was her comrade, standing in the doorway in all her intrusive glory._

" _Are you really doing this?" she asked, less like a question and more like a confirmation, like something to ground herself on._

" _Yes." She answered and turned towards the wide-eyed woman. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her thin waist, a psychological sign of anxiety, "I take it you don't want me to."_

" _No," she said, "Not alone."_

 _Her head lifted and their eyes locked._

" _I'm coming with you." She said and let her arms fall to her sides, "Can't possibly miss meeting the one person you apparently hold above me."_

"Is he going to be OK?"

"Lance will be perfectly fine, he just needs some time to rest."

"So there's nothing to worry about?"

"Shiro, love, no. Nothing to worry about."

"And Keith?"

"Keith… Keith will be OK… probably."

Probably? What do you mean 'probably'?"

"I— listen, I'm obligated to tell you the truth, and the truth is that you never know what might happen, though the chances are on our side. That's all I can say for now."

 _Silence._

"He'll be fine, Shiro. Trust in him."

"Matt… what if— what if he did it on purpose?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not! I'm— he… he's t—"

A loud crash echoed through his skull and his eyes shot open. His ears were filled with the deafening shrill of tires screeching to an abrupt stop on oil-and-rain soaked asphalt. Gasping, he grabbed onto the nearest grab-able thing: Shiro.

"Lance! Lance, breathe!"

His big, warm hands wrapped around Lance's biceps and squeezed enough to send a wave of reassurance coursing through his veins. It brought him back down to Earth.

"Keith…" he started, mind blank and vision blurry, one of his contacts must have fallen out, "Keith! Where is he—"

"He's OK! He's with the doctor! Lay down, you're not ready to stand yet." Shiro urged and pushed him back down into the ocean of pillows.

"Where's Raven?"

"She's with Allura, they're outside." Matt supplied, still dressed like a paramedic on duty. He reminded Lance of a firefighter, dirty and stained from rolling around on the ground with a frantic Lance.

Suddenly, the room filled with silence. Everything was incredibly blurry, partially because of the missing contact.

"I must have dropped one of my contacts… when…when…" he gulped and tried again, "When I— when I was—"

"I assumed that would be the case, so I brought you your glasses and a change of clothes." Shiro said, a knowing, kind smile plastered on his lips, "Didn't know you're blind until I stumbled upon your glasses earlier." He teased.

Lance frowned.

The older man bent down and reached into his black, leather backpack. He pulled out a sleek, blue case. In it were Lance's ugly, majorly despised glasses. Reluctantly, he took his other contact out, not even having it in himself to care about how unhygienic it was, and regretfully put on his glasses. Something Keith never knew about him, never would. Embarrassment enveloped him the second both men in front of him giggled at the sight.

"What?!" he asked, defiant, "I'm fucking blind, OK! I get it, I look stupid." he said and huffed, crossing his arms Keith-style.

 _Keith._

He cursed his brain for supplying him with the memory of his name, hated himself for how effortlessly it slipped through the webs in his head and out in the open where it had the freedom to kill.

His friend— possibly even lover— was dying somewhere nearby, and he could do nothing but wait and trust. _Trust the people with an actual degree_ , he tried reminding himself, but something inside made him want to crawl out and to Keith, wherever they'd put him. He wanted to see him again, touch him, talk to him. There was so much to say, to ask.

He might never get the chance to do that again.

When tears fell for the millionth time that night, both men stopped their giggling and frowned— sending him looks of concern.

"Lance… he will be OK." Shiro assured him.

"Yeah! Keith is hella strong, don't worry. It's nothing he can't handle." Matt added, sitting down on the other side of Lance's bed. Something about the confidence, the familiarity of his statement sent shiver down Lance's spine.

He swallowed.

"But you said you can't promise us anything."

An accusation and a confirmation that he had, in fact, heard every word of their previous conversation.

Matt froze, his face paling.

Lance turned to Shiro, "And why are you both so confident?" he asked the two startled lovers.

The glimmer of silver promise rings as they reflected the lamplight blinded him and sent a spear flying, through his broken chest. It stung to see.

But the two men remained silent, averting their gaze.

"Maybe…" Shiro started, "Maybe that's something you should ask Keith when he wakes up."

He watched as the bulky man fiddled with his thumbs, eyes roaming the room as if walking through the Centaur's maze: adding every object and dust-particle to memory— scared of getting lost if he looked back.

Lance smiled, a weak and fake smile, "Guess you can't say."

"I shouldn't." he confirmed, "It's not something I have the right to tell."

Lance's head was spinning again. It seemed his brain wasn't a fan of stability today, neither was his fate, it seems. He wanted nothing more than to rip Shiro's throat out, listen to the unspoken words by force if he had to, but knew better than that. He was an airhead, but he was no idiot. Lance knew all too well what their silence, their confidence meant, and he dreaded the day he would hear it said.

"Lance!"

His head lifted only to be met by big, dark-violet eyes— framed with thick, ebony lashes and equally as dark hair. Her cheeks and eyes were red from crying, but her smile shone so brightly it seemed to hold the stars of their universe.

"Raven…" he said and watched her as she climbed up and laid down next to him, snuggling close to his side and burying her nose in his protruding collarbones.

A tan hand hovered hesitantly above her head before gently drowning itself in oceans of black, silken hair. It hurt. It hurt to see her, to touch her like this. He had never realized it before— how much she looks and acts like Keith— until now. She was so small in his arms, just like Veronica. Again, tears welled up in his eyes and spilled over and onto his cheeks. This time, he could no longer tell which thought the reason for it had been. He rested his chin against the crown of her head and listened to the muffled sobs vibrating against his shoulder.

"Shh…" he started, "I got'chu." He tried reassuring, both her and himself.

"I don't want him to die."

Lance's voice caught in his throat. Around him stood Shiro and Matt next to Allura (who had brought in the poor girl) and Lotor, all of whom stood dead still. Their eyes were locked on Raven, expressions blank. He tried catching their eye, tried to silently beg for help from his friends, but the four adults remained deathly quiet.

He tried again, but no sound came out except for a gargled cough and a loud sniffle. The pounding in his head tormented him, kept him from uttering a single word. It knew he would break apart if he did.

So, with no other option available, he wrapped his arms around her lithe body and squeezed her tight, close to his raging heartbeat.

They remained like that for a while, bodies close. He rocked her from side to side until her sniffles died out and were exchanged for soft snores. He rocked her like that until Allura and Lotor left with the promise of bringing something for him and Raven— Keith, too. He rocked her in his arms until they'd grown sore and heavy, until his eyelids drooped, and until his body slumped against the mountain of pillows behind him.

He rocked her fragile body, her youth and happiness, until he could no longer feel the weight of the world on her shoulders.

Lance was no superhuman, could carry no more than two thirds his body weight, a stick-figure granted life— but if taking the world off her shoulders meant she could snore softly into his collarbone, then, by all means, he would let it crush him.

When the doctor deemed him fit enough to walk out of his hospital room and over to where Keith resided, he practically leapt out of the uncomfortable bed. It creaked and slid to the side as he jumped off.

Keith's room was just down the corridor and to the left. On the way there, he bumped over and over again into innocent nurses and angry doctors— keen on scolding him for running in the hospital.

But he ignored it, listened instead to the rushing of his pulse in his ears, felt the tremble in his weak legs as they carried him forward.

Entering the hospital room, he was met with the sight of black wrapped in white bandages. His right wrist was bandaged, too, and his knee was wrapped in some sort of brace, injured as well. Something in the back of his mind whispered how that injury would prevent him from finishing his painting of Lance, at least until it healed properly.

He felt stupid for even thinking that.

He approached on soft feet, hesitant to reach out and steady himself on the chair next to his bed. Shiro and Raven must have been here not too long ago, because there were greasy finger-stains on the table by his bed.

The chair was uncomfortable and broken. It wobbled once from side to side when he seated himself.

Just like that— in front of the sleeping beauty— he remained for a while, thoughts soaring. Keith's head was turned straight ahead, not a muscle moving or showing any indication of life on the pale man's face. A heart monitor beeped gently, the only indication of his still beating heart.

Lance felt the warm embrace of ocean waves as they enveloped him, kissed his skin. He's never experienced relief quite like this. It would not disappear entirely, not until Keith was awake and talking and laughing and painting again, but it was enough to see his face. To see the minimal twitch of his lashes, the heaving of his chest.

His hands were still shaking as he reached out until his fingers brushed through the darkest of skies. His hair was warm and dry, but frizzy and tangled, too. The rain had shown him no mercy, neither had his own blood where it had coagulated between strands. _He pushed that thought away._

"Idiot."

He could feel the growing confidence within himself as a thumb gently danced over his lips, chapped but soft all at once. Today, he'd let himself indulge in Keith's beauty.

Another finger traced the fine bridge of his nose and traveled up towards his right eye, touching softly the long lashes where they rested against his skin. Bruises littered his body, all in different shades of yellow and purple. A new scar had formed on his cheek, not so deep but big and ready to stay a reminder for a lifetime. It traveled up his right cheek and stopped right below his eye. He looked horrible, completely beaten up and dirty and a mess, yet, despite it all Lance leant forward.

Nothing more than a peck, but a kiss nonetheless, placed gently on his unresponsive lips.

Like last time, sparks truly went flying.

 _Quite literally,_ because it appears he had just been thrown straight into a Disney fairytale. Keith's violet eyes opened, as if on que, and drifted to the side where they locked with Lance's.

The omnipresent painter in the room poured a bucket of colors over everything, coating his world in saturated beauty _._

"Purple…" He said, startling both himself and barely-present Keith.

He raised a brow, weakly, the way he always did whenever he found something to be completely and utterly confusing. Lance thought it endearing, cute even.

"Purple." He repeated himself, more firmly this time, "My favorite color is not blue, it's purple."

Keith closed his eyes and rasped out a weak, "Why?" before they opened again. All air left his lungs the second they did. _That's why,_ he thought.

"What, my eyes?" he croaked, a soft blush spreading across his cheeks.

Wait, _had he said that out loud?_

Keith laughed, quiet and raspy but _a laugh._ Lance could slowly start checking things off his relief-list.

His face burned, but he had made up his mind hours ago. Sitting in his hospital bed, rooms away from a dying Keith, he had promised himself that if he ever woke again Lance would make sure he had no regrets. He would make sure to capture every moment, every word and emotion. He would make sure to never hesitate again, never run away from his feelings.

He gulped.

"Keith, can I tell you something?"

Keith merely nodded, too tired to do more than that. Even that seemed painful, for he furrowed his brows and closed his eyes, a pained expression overtaking his handsome face. _Must hurt to move his head after the impact._

He gulped again, then,

"I'm madly in love with you, I think."

The confession hung heavy in the air. It was probably the last thing Keith wanted— or needed— to hear right now, but he could no longer hold it within himself. There. He said it. He's in love with a boy, a _man._

Keith blinked lazily at him, and then,

"You _think?"_ he asked, voice low and deeper than he's ever heard it before, "Dude, if all that was you being discreet, I'm scared."

Lance blinked at him once then twice, confused as to what to say. He couldn't decide which rejection-category _that_ belonged to. _Keith had noticed? Known all along?_ His face heated, hotter than ever thought possible. _Jesus._

"What…?" he said instead, jaw slack and heavy.

"I know you do." He said, as if to clarify, then he stopped.

He stopped and looked at various flowers and glitter-soaked drawings on the table beside his head, before saying, "I know _I do, too._ "

He couldn't read his expression, couldn't make out what he truly meant, and couldn't care less about it.

As if life was being pumped back into him, his heart leapt in his chest, so roughly he bet Keith could hear it. It was mimicking the beeping of the machine connected to Keith, loud and synchronized as their eyes remained locked on the other, unmoving. The beeping continued, a rapid pulse— like music in a ballroom, or the psalms sung in church on a rainy Sunday— and Lance's face broke into a smile as he watched the blush in Keith's cheeks spread down to his neck and up to his ears. Something in him told him to run, to turn back before it's too late— before he becomes completely incapable of ever returning to his previous life— but his heart spoke no words, told no tales. His heart beat and beat, over and over, for the boy with sunsets in his eyes.


	12. Chapter 12 - Hospital Gowns

_**If the sky that we look upon should tumble and fall,  
or the mountain should crumble to the sea.  
I won't cry, I won't cry.  
No, I won't shed a tear.  
Just as long as you stand— stand by me.**_

Keith remained hospitalized for weeks after the accident. As it turns out, the minivan that hit him had slid on the rain-slicked pavement and hit him right side first, successfully injuring his right hip, knee, arm and— from the impact of hitting the pavement— his head.

The first few days Lance spent solely in Keith's hospital room, refusing to leave for more than a few necessary visits to the bathroom and only stopped being so stubborn when Keith commented on his weight loss.

" _You look like you're dying." He'd told him, to which Lance had gasped and said, "Wait, you're not into skinny twinks?"_

 _Keith laughed weakly from his stiff position on the bed and said, "I might be, but I'm not into corpses."_

So— of course— Lance had to step up his game and actually listen to his doctors for once.

He took up Raven on her many candy-offerings on random occasions (to which Keith objected like the dad he is), and even went as far as to personally ask Shiro to bring takeout. As much as Shiro loved them both, he was less than happy to act Lance's personal assistant. Despite it, he never stopped bringing him food, sometimes even homecooked.

His life was slowly coming back together. Sure, he was weeks behind on his school work, but at least he was gaining healthy weight and laughing again. Keith was OK, for now, and would be even OK-er later. Yet— of course— life always found its way in.

His fourth week in the hospital with a barely-functioning Keith he got bad news.

"You're not seriously quitting on me, are you?"

"I don't understand the appeal! Tik-Tak-Toe is the stupidiest game ever! Is it even a game? Can you call this a game?" he cast his arms out in front of him dramatically, protesting the God-forsaken "game" Keith had suggested.

"Is it a mullet thing to be into weird shit?" he asked.

Keith merely laughed and smirked deviously in response, "No, you just suck at Tik-Tak-Toe because you're a dumbass." He said and crossed his third in a row for the millionth time.

Around them were crumbled pieces of paper, torn and cluttered with Tik-Tak-Toe games and thrown about in mild aggression. On the table next to Keith stood the empty take-out boxes, the food drying on the packages and the grease of it having soaked through the cardboard in some places. All around them was a mess, but neither had the energy to care, too occupied with the other.

"I'm not dumb! At least not that much…" he tried defending himself, deflating as the cruel realization dawned on him that there may be a truth to his boyfriend's words.

(Which was, by the way… something. Keith was now officially his boyfriend. For real. Actually for real. And Lance could still not believe it. )

 _Boyfriend in question_ smiled warmly at him, "Jack of all trades, master of none," he said, but just as Lance was about to retort, he continued, "Is better than master of one." He finished and put aside the ruined notebook, or what was left of it.

Lance smiled.

Then, as if born to ruin every sweet moment he's had with Keith so far, Shiro's voice broke through the romantic atmosphere,

"Lance…" he said, head poking in hesitantly, "You…" he started, scratching the back of his neck, "You have visitors." He finished, finally looking up.

When he walked out into the air-conditioned, squeaky clean hospital corridor— a stark contrast against the dirty, overheated and stuffed hospital room he'd just left— he was greeted with the sight of four very familiar individuals. One of them turned at the sound of his footsteps and leapt into his open arms.

"Lance! Lance!" her arms wrapped hazardously around his neck and held on tight as tears ran down her puffy cheeks and onto his right.

Her sobs and screams of delight had turned the attention of the remaining three towards the bittersweet reunion. Veronica held on tight and refused to look back, even as their father told her to come back to where she'd stood. His sister simply shook her head.

"No! I miss Lance!" she said and buried her face further into his neck, her breathing close to his ear and her tears staining his clothes. He could feel the feather-light flutter of her lashes against his skin.

Lance stood still before them, unsure of how to act or what to say. It felt surreal, to see them up close for the first time in so long. His father he was the most surprised to see. Nothing about him had changed, not even the hatred in his eyes as he watched him from a distance. A translucent wall had been built— placed between a son and his father to remain for a lifetime. He knew nothing he ever said or did would ever win him his father back, and— strangely— he was OK with it.

His mother and brother Luis remained quiet, observing the situation. Minutes ticked by slowly as they all listened to the soft sobbing of his little sister, tightly nestled in his collarbone and holding onto him for dear life.

No matter how much he tried, he couldn't manage to still his raging heartbeat. All the things he'd dreamt about, the reunion of him and his family, they never went anything like this. This was raw, unscripted. He wasn't ready, and neither were they as they stood and watched like he'd grown a third head.

Then, Luis broke the silence. He coughed into his fist and walked up to Lance cautiously. He could tell that he wanted to hug him, too. To tell him that he missed him and that he wants him back, but he held it back. Instead, he reached for Veronica and rubbed her back gently.

"Vic…" he started, " **Let's leave mom and dad alone with Lance for a moment, OK? They have important things to talk about.** " He said, brows creased into a deep frown. His eyes flickered from Lance's face to the floor, and clouded with tears as he spoke, " **C'mon…** " he pleaded until Veronica finally let go.

He took her hand in his and turned to walk them out of the scenario. Her gaze never left Lance's, not until she turned the corner with Luis and disappeared.

Lance felt hollow— cold all of a sudden— and craved to have it back, the familiarity of his family as they loved him unconditionally, like how they once did. Like how Veronica still did. He wanted to run, to look for Veronica and Luis and hug them and never let go again but knew better of it. He was done with running away, done with covering and hiding.

"So…" he started, voice cracking embarrassingly, "What are you doing here?" he asked, and then, his mother broke.

Before his eyes, she broke down into a wail of relief and agony, running towards her son— arms outstretched and ready to do what she should have done a long time ago.

As her arms wrapped around him, everything he'd bottled up inside for months overflowed and spilled over the edge and onto her cashmere shirt and silken scarf. She smelled like summer, and flowers, and home-made garlic bread, and everything he knew as _unfiltered love._

" **I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry, angel! I'm so sorry!** "

His arms finally reacted and reached up to wrap around her shoulders.

" **I should have been there for you. I failed you, baby. I failed you. I'm a horrible mother.** " her apologies echoed loudly through the corridor. People had gotten up and out of their beds to watch the commotion, and some nurses even stopped to observe, " **I'm a horrible mother. I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I love you, my angel, no matter what. I hope you know that, even if I'm no good at showing it.** " Her eyes were steadily, forcefully locked on his, blue against blue, " **Please come home.** "

And then, right there, is where Lance let it all go. In a single intake of breath, an inhale worth a life, he told them everything he'd wanted to say for so long. He told them about his adoration for girls, and his longing for boys. About years of repression and anger and confusion. About never finding himself, loosing parts he thought where essential but no one else wanted seen in him. He told them about the days, weeks, months spent crying himself to sleep over boys he could never have. Over love he could never show. Over parents who could never accept him for _him._ He told them about that dreaded day months ago, about the resentment he felt radiating off them, about the hatred in their voice and the malice in their words as they left him out in the cold dead of the night. He told them about the pickpocketing, about his encounter with Keith, about the inevitable doom of falling for the painter with bruised knuckles and a temper to fear. He yelled at them for never understanding, never caring enough to listen and try, never wanting a part in _Lance._ He screamed about their love for a son they never had, and about his dead brother. He blamed them for every downfall and every night spent panicking, every word spoken between two boys discarded by their loved ones.

And as his long inhale finally faded into breathlessness, as his tears clogged his throat and dry rasps threatened to mute him for good— he told them about how much he still loved them. About how many nights he'd spent wishing he was someone else, someone they could be proud of. About how often he would think of them, even in the depths of his despair, remember their love even if it was fleeting and shallow. Told them about the cold night out on the streets, and how he fell asleep to the memory of his family. He told them about the homesickness, about his longing to come back home.

And finally, he told them how he now no longer would.

Because in the midst of the crumbling of everything around him, he'd found a family and a home. Family that would love and cherish him for what he is, and a boy with a heart so big it could fit the whole of Manhattan.

And as his speech came to an end, so did his mother's tears.

" **You're not coming back?** " she asked, and the heartbreak was undeniable.

Lance looked at her broken face, at the fear in her heart so out and open before them all to see— and then to his father. His father who was crying, face unchanging but streaked with tears of sorrow.

" **No, mom.** " He croaked, " **I've found a new home.** " He said and turned, ready to walk away with his heart in his throat when he suddenly felt a pair of cold arms wrap around his torso.

"Don't go…" came a sniffle from behind, barely audible, "Please, promise you'll at least visit." His brother pleaded, "Marco misses you a lot… Veronica misses you even more… I miss you the most… I'm—"

"Of course." He cut off and turned around to envelop his little brother in a bone-breaking hug, Veronica squeezed in the middle of it and his mother joining shortly after, and as he slowly felt himself readying to get up and finally leave, a fourth voice finally spoke.

" **As much as I disapprove, our home is not a home without our son**."

Lance merely smiled and got up, legs like jelly and hands shaking.

"I'm sorry." He added, " **I'm the one who truly failed you**."

He stood there for a moment and listened to the clock above their heads ticking away.

" **You really did, dad, but I love you regardless**." he said and turned towards Veronica and Luis, ruffled each of their heads, "And I'll see you two as soon as I'm out of here, I promise! And when I'm out I'll take you and Marco and Raven out to eat and we'll have so much fun and you'll tell me everything I've missed out on, alright?" he asked, to which the snotty due below him only nodded eagerly in response, synchronized as always.

" **So, be nice,** " he said, "And I'll see you again soon, OK?"

The hospital suddenly felt far too small to house him, on the verge of eruption. No, scratch that— _after_ eruption. Everything he had been holding inside for months was finally out in the open, thrown in the faces of those he was the least ready to tell.

Keith's room was still empty. Raven was still in school, and Shiro was now long gone together with Allura and Lotor, who had only come to visit shortly. Everyone was busy. They had a life to tend to, after all. No one expected them to stay all day, not even Keith. Well, no one except for Lance. Because unlike Keith, Lance knows what a real family is, what a real family is supposed to act like. Or maybe he thought he knew. Maybe he doesn't know after all, and that realization is undeniably what hurts the most.

He looked up at him the second the door creaked open, expectantly. Always eager to see who came to visit, despite downright denying it every time Lance brought up his unfiltered excitement for visitors.

His expression quickly fell when he saw Lance.

"You look like shit." He stated.

The book in his lap was thick and obnoxiously yellow, so unlike anything you would ever associate with Keith. Lance still had no idea what the hell it was about, and right now he really didn't care.

He merely sighed and plopped down on the chair next to Keith's bed, "I know." He said.

"Did something happen?"

What was he supposed to say? He couldn't lie, but neither could he tell the truth. Keith already had enough to deal with, he didn't need Lance's pathetic family drama.

"Nothing you need to worry about." He settled on and averted his gaze from the intensity of violets boring through his skull.

"Doesn't look like _nothing I need to worry about_ to me. It looks like I should worry. A lot. It looks like I should worry a lot." He paused and waited for a reply, but Lance remained quiet, "Now _I am_ worrying a lot."

Lance couldn't help but snort weakly at his boyfriend's craziness. Somehow, he always knew how to cheer him up, despite claiming to be the worst at doing just that.

"My… my parents came…" he started.

His thumbs were dancing in delicate circles around each other, a tremble still evident in his hands. The heavy lump from before was still there, clogging his airways. He would certainly spill over any minute now,

"Damn… I'm sorry."

And so he did.

Ugly cries and uglier tears filled the heavy atmosphere. All his hatred and love for them mingled with each other and over spilled out on the caramel canvas of his skin, bare for the world to see. The world— in this case— being Keith.

Keith with his gentle eyes and even gentler hands as they pulled him close. Keith with his soft skin and softer lips as they kissed the crown of his head. Keith with his raspy, deep voice which lulled him to sleep.

The next thing he knew, he was half-laying down on Keith's hospital bed, wrapped in his arms and nestled on his chest. It rose steadily and so calmly Lance thought he wasn't breathing at all at first. Warmth rose from his skin and heated Lance's face in more ways than one. This was the first time they had been so… intimate… since their little bonding moment on the balcony. It made bubbles rise in his stomach, or were they butterflies? He didn't care.

All he cared about was Keith, and right now he couldn't be happier.

And then, the boy in question moved. A hand started stroking his head ever so gently, lovingly.

"You awake?" he asked and put a lock of chestnut hair behind Lance's ear.

"Keith?" he rasped.

His boyfriend only hummed in response.

"Can I ask you something super personal?"

Keith remained quiet for so long Lance thought he had fallen asleep, then he finally spoke up.

"Alright." He said and continued dragging his finger through his hair, drawing circles over his arm with his injured one.

Now it was Lance's turn to remain quiet. How do you even ask such a thing?

He listened to the sound of Keith's steady heartbeat and felt the softness of his touch on bare skin. _When did they grow so fond of each other?_

He finally sighed.

"After the accident… I mean…look, I don't want this to come off as intruding so if you don't want to answer it's OK. I mean, we've only known each other for so lo—"

"Lance. Get to the point."

He took a deep breath, and then,

"Was it on purpose, Keith?"

The silence lingered heavily, and Keith's hands had stopped moving. Instead, Lance could hear the quickening of his heartbeat in his chest. He didn't dare to move an inch.

"No," he said, "Not that time."

And, sure, it wasn't as bad as Lance had expected. So pray tell, why did his heart sink so fast? Why was he suddenly cold in his arms, underneath the blanket and wrapped in love?

"That time?" he asked.

He could both feel and hear the deep breath he took.

"That time."

"So you've tried to… you know…"

"Kill myself? Yeah."

"How many times?"

"Too many and not many enough. Couldn't even do that right so I gave up." He chuckled self-deprecatingly, weakly even, "I guess I'm not as tough as I seem." He said.

His muscles ached, and his arm felt cramped where it had been stuck between him and Keith for God knows how long. He wasn't sure what to say anymore.

"Why?" was all he came up with, whispered between two broken chests and barely audible.

The sun was setting outside, casting a red glow on the bodies entwined on the hospital bed. The whole scene felt surreal, like he had been thrown into another reality. One in which Keith was far less broken than in the real one, the one he had grown so familiar with. Had it always been like this? Was he really that blind to it all?

"I guess I don't like myself very much."

"But I like you? Shiro likes you? _Raven_ likes you!" he tried, but Keith only laughed weakly into his hair.

"Maybe that's what made it a true accident."

He hadn't noticed how tight his grip on Keith's gown was until he glanced down to where his knuckle was almost ripping the fabric.

"But I notice." He said, "I always notice. And people think I don't, that I'm always in my own head, that I'm selfish and stuck up, but I notice everything." His hand was once again carding through chestnut locks, "I noticed right off the bat that you liked my appearance, and it didn't take long to notice how much you liked _me._ And worst thing is I let you in so easily, despite having some walls up. I've never had something like that, so I guess that's part of why it was an accident." His arm was now rubbing gently up and down his back, pushing him closer into his chest, "I noticed, Lance, and I still do. And I know you're trying to hide it, but I know you're crying. I noticed that, too."

Maybe even Lance himself was unaware of his tears until Keith brought it up, because he's never cried like this before. His cries are loud and obnoxious, attention seeking like the rest of his personality. They're never quiet and sorrow full, and right now sorrow didn't even begin to describe the cracking of his heart as it broke at the seams.

"But it's OK." He hushed, voice low and raspy and so quietly gentle only for him, "I'm OK now, Lance. I found my way around it, and I'm more than happy with what I picked up along the way, so stop crying. I'm OK."

His injured hand caressed his cheek and wiped his tears before traveling up and behind his ear where it scratched gently and so terrifyingly lovingly.

"So no: it wasn't on purpose and never will be." He said.


	13. Chapter 13 - Written Letter

_**Wherever you go, whatever you do,  
I will be right here waiting for you.  
Whatever it takes, or how my heart breaks,  
I will be right here waiting for you.**_

The day Keith was to be dispatched from the hospital, after a month of careful recovery, Shiro came to speak to him

Like the personality which resided there alongside Keith— the room he stayed in was a complete mess of everything. Books, amateur sketches, Tik-tak-toe papers and pencils were all over the place. On the table next to his head were various flowers, courtesy of the ever royal Allura and her hesitantly worried husband.

Keith, however, didn't look the least troubled in the heart of the hurricane. His posture relaxed, his hands holding a book. Most of the pages weighed heavily on his left arm as two fingers pinched the remaining few in his right. It was still wrapped tightly in bandages and lacked the strength it usually held.

He rubbed his neck and sighed, "Looks like you're about ready to jump right out of there." He greeted.

Keith ripped his gaze from the interest in his lap and met Shiro's in all of his intrusiveness (if you ask him).

"Shiro," he started, "Done for the day?" he asked.

"Yeah. Got let off earlier. Nothing for me to do except collect dust in a corner."

Keith chuckled, "You'd think a police officer would have more work to do." He teased.

Shiro tensed but smiled, eyebrows twitching in defiance, "I'm just a guard, Keith. Not a police officer anymore." He said.

Keith had a habit, a talent of forcing the officer title on Shiro. A title he long ago lost along with his arm and the remainder of his sanity. The guy didn't let go of it, though. Not the way Shiro did. Keith refused to acknowledge the fact that he had ben kicked down to a mere guard, stubbornly calling him a police officer. Shiro knew he did it out of love.

"Unfortunately…" the raven-haired said, trailing off.

Shiro saw this as his entrance.

"Enough about _my_ accident, let's talk about _your_ accident."

His head shot up at the remark, eyebrows furrowed in his usual scowl. _Wow, had it really been that long since he last saw it in person?_

"You know…" he started, not giving him room to counter, "I feel like we don't get to spend much time together anymore. You're always working, and when you're not you're with a certain lanky twink." He stated, sending him his most devilish wink.

Keith merely pursed his lips and rolled his eyes in response.

"If that's all, can you leave? I was in the middle of something." He said, gesturing vaguely towards the hundreds upon hundreds of tightly bound pages on his lap.

"Yeah, being a nerd." He retorted, "How many books have you finished since getting obliterated in the middle of the street?"

His fingers jutted out one after one as he mocked counting them all on his fingers, pout exaggerated.

"At least ten." He said, proudly, "Not much to do when you're in a bed slowly developing scoliosis." He shrugged, eyebrow twitching with the motion.

Shiro had witnessed over the years just how animatic Keith truly is whenever he speaks. It was a privilege few were graced with. To most, he appeared stoic and tiff. Shiro had learnt to see the small details stack atop each other.

He smiled warmly at the sight before sighing, "Look, Keith," he started, "I think you should do something about… this." He said and gestures widely around them, emphasizing Keith in his bandages.

"This can't go on forever." He said, "And… I think you know exactly what I'm talking about."

Keith turned his head towards the window to his right, gaze distant and furious— a fire burning deep within oceans of violet.

"I'm not reading that fucking letter." He bit out, voice coated in venom.

Shiro knew better than to back off.

"I—" he groaned softly, "I know it's what's been weighing the most on you, and it's started to affect your health— no, has been for a while now, and—"

"I don't need you to baby me around. You're not my dad, get it through your head."

He tried not to take his harsh words to heart, knowing this was Keith's second main defense tactic, right below death glares and fists.

Neither of the two worked on Shiro, and he wouldn't let hurtful words work either.

He steadied himself and willed his voice to follow, "Do you seriously think your mental state right now, where your stability is today, is your best you? Is that what you're offering Lance? This mess of a person?" he asked and watched as Keith flinched, undoubtedly hurt by his words.

"Look, you have to take ahold of yourself and your life and knowing you there's nothing bothering you more than her." He said, confident in his knowledge of who exactly Keith Kogane is.

The male only scoffed, eyes glazed with tears, "How the fuck would you know what's bothering me the most?" he asked, eyes still fixated on the windowsill.

"Stop pretending like you know me better than I do."

"Have you ever considered the fact that maybe I do? Maybe I love you enough to let myself see what you refuse to acknowledge?"

Keith remained quiet, breaths uneven. His chest rose and fell heavily below layers upon layers of blankets. Shiro watched as his throat bobbed, then he spoke: "I'm not reading the letter." He said, but he felt victorious nonetheless.

Even if he refused, he'd noticed the rising clump in his throat— noted the stiffness, the bleary eyes. His words had stuck a chord— were now rooted deep within— and all that had to be done now was for someone to come along and clip it free entirely.

His knee still refused to support him, so he opted for crutches and a willing Lance whose shoulder he could borrow for the few minutes it took to walk to their apartment from the car.

"Slow down, I've only got one leg to work with here!" he half shouted into Lance's right ear, breath coming out ragged from the exertion.

The Cuban chuckled by his side, "You know, you're not so tough now that you've borrowed my gran's knee!" he said and grinned from ear to ear, flashing a set of bright teeth towards him and successfully making his heart jump out of alignment.

Snow crunched below their feet, thick and fresh and bright white in the cold, winter sun.

He could do nothing but smile back weakly below layers of black.

"You good?" he asked as they entered the worn complex and called for Raven to hurry up.

Keith stood to catch his breath and watched as an overly-excited Raven dashed in through the glass door, covered in snow and wet from head to toe. Her cheeks where flushed red, eyes glistening.

"I'm great." He answered, a smile lingering on his lips as they turned towards the elevator. It creaked and groaned and gave away a horrid sound of protest as all three of them squeezed inside.

He sighed loudly, "I need to find a new place."

As if on que, the lights above their head flickered once, and the creaking intensified as they slowed to a gut-flipping stop.

They somehow ended up on the balcony again where Keith's easel still stood, shielded from the snow by a thrown-over plastic sheet.

It felt sort of bittersweet, the fact that they were back where their relationship once started.

"Man," Lance exhaled, more to himself than Keith, his breath a white mist in the still cool air on the balcony. The heater in the corner whirred softly, trying its best to warm up the enclosed area, "'s been a while, hasn't it?" he asked, eyes glued to the grey buildings outside the frosty glass.

"I guess." Was all he managed to get out, his thoughts, too, stuck in another time. A time when they were still only strangers. It stung to realize that they sort of still were.

As if having read his mind, he spoke: "So, are you gonna tell me or not? 'Cause I don't wanna have to play detective, I'm not very good at it." The boy huffed, putting and crossing his arms above his chest.

Keith laughed, "How about you start it off by telling me about those _horrendous_ glasses?" he retorted and watched as Lance visibly paled next to him.

He turned his head sharply, eyes wide and jaw slack.

"Who told you?!" he shouted, voice a high pitch— a pain to sensitive ears.

Keith winced, "Jesus," he started and rubbed his ears, "Shiro, of course." He spilled and watched as betrayal plastered itself all over the cute boy's features.

"That piece of shit…"

"Seriously though, bright blue? What are you? Five?"

"Oh, c'mon! Cut me some slack! It's a pretty color and it accentuates my eyes!" he said with a flick of his wrist, a pout and an upturned chin— eyes closed and eyebrows high.

Keith scoffed, grin spreading against his will. _This boy was too much._

A light silence fell, but it was full of question marks which poked and prodded at his left cheek.

He gave in with a sigh and a roll of his eyes, "Alright," he said, monotone, "What doo you want me to tell you?" he asked.

To be fair, he was half expecting Lance to ask about his interests or what his favorite dog-breed is, but instead he said:

"Tell me about your past."

…

The bluest of oceans searched his features for something Keith didn't dare to even so much as hint at.

Silence fell once more as his eyes glued themselves to his injured, cast knee. It trembled slightly below his palm.

He watched and watched and willed heavy tears away, and as he did, tan, slim fingers danced atop his hand and intertwined with his calloused, contrasting paleness.

"It's OK…" Lance's voice came through, soft and understanding, "You don't have to tell me anything. But Keith, I can't live the rest of my life not knowing you. If we're to make this work, I want us to be as open as possible with each other. Think you could do that for me? For us?" he asked, "I know it's hard, and— trust me— I know it's a mortifying feeling to open up to someone just like that, but please give me a try. Let me prove to you that I'm worth your time and your past, your present like your future." He pleaded, eyes steadily searching his face— dancing across injured surfaces and soft planes of pink.

With a lump in his throat, he spoke: "Alright…" he said, "I guess it's now or never, huh?"

His voice was giving in— cracking and breaking before he could utter the words, "But don't pity me when I'm done." He said.

 _Shouting. So much shouting. It was as if his voice, his feelings were stuck on an endless, ruthless loop— entwined between fingers clenched into a bloody fist. It connected with his nose a second time and didn't so much as falter at the sound which vibrated through the room. Isn't he supposed to love me?_

 _I could hear the faint sobbing coming from another room, somewhere on the upper floor. Was it mother? Or had Raven woken up amidst the commotion? I can't tell anymore._

 _Another fist, this one straight towards my chest. A third landed on my jaw and sent a dull stiffness coursing through every muscle-fiber in my body where it lay fragile and broken below a very drunk and_ very _angry father. He reeked of alcohol. That's all I remember._

 _And that's how my days went. Day in and day out, the same old story over and over again. Won't he ever let it go? Does he still blame himself? Or has he thrown that, too, on my shoulders?_

 _Mom is no where to be seen, often gone for days on end. Whenever she returns, another fight erupts. Every time she clomps out again, barely sparing me a minute of her time to say hello and goodbye._

 _Like that, my days blended into one. School fell behind, no longer a priority. Right there and then, all that mattered was the softness of the baby girl in my skinny arms. Her breaths were ragged and strained against my broken collarbone._

 _He went and did it again. He scared her. Thank God I had just returned from a long-due trip to school. But that day, I made up my mind as I felt her tremble course through me, as I listened to the sound of her cries._

 _Fuck school._

 _One day, she came back. This time, she stayed the whole evening without her and dad fighting. I don't know why. Maybe because dad wasn't drunk off his ass for once._

 _I remember it as though it were yesterday, the gentle caress of her hands and the calming loving in her voice. If only I'd known how much those parting words truly meant. If only I'd known they were parting words._

 _That night, I woke up to the sound of whispered yelling. Mom and dad were at it again, though this time their fight was quiet. There were no fists, no venom, only hurt and hurt and so much hurt. Her eyes were glazed— his tear-dried. On his cheeks were patterns of sorrow._

" _So you're leaving." He'd said._

" _Only for some time." She'd answered, "I'll be back."_

 _But she never was._

 _And even though that was the last time I saw my mom, it was the last time I saw my dad, too._

 _He was never quite the same again, and as days went on his energy slowly died out with every labored breath._

 _There were no more fists, only weakened hits from time to time. Like when I kept pulling his shirt to get him to stand up and walk a little. "You need some air!" I'd told him, "You're withering away!" but all I got in response was a slap across my cheek._

 _Four months and a week later I found him hanging from the ceiling in his bedroom._

 _Three days late._

 _And maybe if I had been better, if I had been something they could both be proud of, if I could have been something they could have stayed for— maybe then none of this would have happened. Maybe then they'd both be here still._

 _But I'm not, I wasn't._

 _To them, I was one out of three. Too old to abort, too young to kick out._

 _Sometimes I lay at night, thinking about a past I could have had._

Certainly, he must be whimpering by now? Lance couldn't tell. His sobbing drowned out any coherent thoughts— eyes stuck on the sharp profile next to him. Keith made no movement, didn't even flinch. All he did was reach out and wrap an arm around his shuddering shoulders.

"Your…" he started, voice a wavering mess of emotions, "Your sister… your older sister… she…" but he didn't wait for a reply, didn't _need_ a reply. It was clear as day. Instead, he buried his nose in Keith's shoulder and collarbones and felt the roughness of the bandages rub gently at his back through thin fabric.

"I'm so sorry." He sniffled. His throat felt ruthlessly dry.

"It feels like you've been crying a lot lately." He grumbled, absentmindedly stroking patterns into Lance's back. His brows were pinched together into a deep scowl, "I should be making you laugh, not cry… maybe Shiro had a point."

He felt himself still suddenly in Keith's half-embrace.

"Shiro?" he asked, an eyebrow shooting up, "What did Shiro tell you?"

Keith shuffled in his seat for a moment, uncertain of whether to tell or not, but decided against keeping up the façade.

"My mom left me a letter. I've never read it, barely even remember where I put it, but Shiro wants me to read it. He thinks she might have written something important in it, and that reading me could clear my head of things." His hand clenched around taut muscles in his thigh, a nervous tick perhaps, "Then he told me I should because I'd want to be the best me I can be… for you…" he said, face falling into something too painful to look at, something Lance recognized as self-hatred, "Said that my pathetic state right now was no boyfriend-material, basically."

Lance's mouth hung open in disbelief.

"You? Not boyfriend-material? Are you joking?" he asked, his turn this time to furrow his brows in frustration, "What's Shiro filling your head with?!"

"The truth." Came Keith's immediate reply, "Only ever the honest, painful truth. And I love him for that." He confirmed, "And he's right, I am a mess, and I probably should read that letter."

"Then why won't you?" came his question, squeaky and quiet.

Keith's face was set into a stern, cold grimace.

"Because I'm terrified of what Ill find out, and mortified that I won't find out anything." He finally answered.

Lance didn't know what to say to that. What was he supposed to say? He completely understood, in his own strange way. The battle in Keith's head was between him and him, nothing else could save him from that. Well, the letter could potentially erase some of that self-hatred. Either that or ruin any chance of ever loving again. The thought sent a shiver down Lance's spine.

He didn't press.

Instead, he let a heavy silence envelop them again as the heat rose around. After a while he slowly got up and grunted as he bent over to turn off the heater, hot to the touch.

"This thing sure knows how to amp shit up!" he said, half-heartedly trying to lighten the mood.

That's when Keith stood up and crossed over to him. His strong arms wrapped around his waist and torso from behind, face nuzzled in his shoulder.

"Thank you." He said, leaning a little too much on the skinny Cuban boy.

A smile spread on his lips.

"Still can't stand, huh?" he asked.

"No, but thank God that I can paint." He said and let go to sit down behind his easel. Lance just stood there, dumbstruck.

"Wait, is that a good idea? Your wrist still needs time to heal."

Keith let out a bark of laughter.

"What!" he exclaimed, defiant, "What's so funny? I'm genuinely worried!" he defended himself, huffing.

Keith wiped at a non-existent tear and smiled brightly at Lance. The sight lit something inside him on fire, and the always present butterflies flew up to his lungs where they hitched his breath. Heat rose through his body and towards his heat. _Dam you and your perfect face._

"Wow," he said, "You really don't know _anything_ about me, do you?" he asked and punctuated his question by raising the pencil with his left hand and dipping it in some paint.

"Now will you sit down so I can finish this God-forsaken painting?"

"You're ambidextrous!?"

Keith smiled warmly, but his eyes were on the easel.

"Yeah, I am." He said, "And there's a lot more for you to learn so prepare yourself, McClain."


	14. Chapter 14 - Night Skies

_**I taste you on my lips and I can't get rid of you,  
so I say damn your kiss and the awful things you do.**_

"Stop squirming already."

"But it's uncomfortable~!" he wailed, neck stiff and legs tingling from the growing numbness.

Keith sighed dramatically and dipped his brush in the 'Cat Dad' cup; the one with the red rim and stupid, cat-head shaped handle. When Lance first found it hiding amongst the many cups and pots and pan in the kitchen cabinet, he was pleasantly surprised. Who would have thought that badass-Keith owned a cute, silly 'Cat Dad' mug? Kitty ears and all.

It seems there are many things Lance doesn't know about Keith.

He was surprised to hear Keith's story; not because of the context, but because Keith willingly opened up to him without any pushing or prodding. Of course he was happy about it, but the fact remained that Keith had been granted a very unfair life.

Lance knew what it was like to lose family, but to then have the blame be shoved onto his shoulders? For the remainder of his family to then push him away, to leave him to his own devices? To make him do their part of the job, raising a child? His skin itched with the mere thought. Anger seeped through his pores, and it gave his entire face a soft, red flare.

"What are you thinking about?" Keith's voice suddenly cut in. He chanced a glance at Lance, briefly, before returning his attention to the painting.

"Nothing…" he sighed.

"Really? Cause you look like what a teenage boy who just saw boobs for the first time would look like." He said, pointing absentmindedly at Lance's flaming face.

He flushed harder, though this time for different reason.

"I wasn't—!" but he cut himself off and groaned, "I was thinking about… you.. actually…" he confessed, voice hushed with embarrassment.

"Me?" came Keith's innocent reply.

"Yeah…" he said, "About what you said… about who you are… just… you." He clarified.

Keith put down the brush on the holder attached to the easel.

He rubbed at his eyes viciously, "Lance," he started, "You don't have to worry about me. And I told you: I don't want your pity." He said, voice colder than usual, done with Lance's persistent probing.

"I'm not! I'm just—"

He was just what? Scared? Sad? Affected?

"Conflicted." He settled on and watched as expressions came and went in Keith's eyes. An overwhelming confusion settled.

"What do you mean?" he asked, his full attention back on Lance's slouched form.

He took a steadying breath, "I just… It must have hurt… a lot…to lose her like that…" he managed to get out. Keith didn't say anything, waiting for a reply, thinking it must be obvious what the answer is.

He continued: "And I just don't want that to hinder you— us, you know? I care about you, a lot, and I want you to be happy. With _me_ , preferably." A smile tugged at his lips, small but there, "There's so much here, Keith. So much affection and attention and time, and I'm ready to give you all of it but…" was he even making any sense at this point?

"But you don't want an unstable boyfriend…" Keith finished for him, voice low and drenched in self-hatred.

"Not that there's anything wrong with _you_!" Lance hurried to correct himself, "I'm just— I don't— you know—!"

"Lance." Keith cut in, "I get it. It's OK. I understand. Fully." He said, eyes on the tiled floor below their feet, analyzing the dust and paint which decorated its surface.

Lance swallowed the heavy lump in his throat. Did he understand? Had Lance gone and ruined everything again? But before he could dwell too deep on his own words, Keith spoke up:

"Would you like to go on a date?" he asked, smile plastered on his lips. The expression shocked him, but what did it for him was the question itself. _A date? Wait. He's not angry?_ _Not even hurt?_

But Lance knew there was pain behind those bright teeth, behind those clear eyes and puffed up cheekbones— a dimple half visible on the unhurt side.

Lance had never noticed that before…

He gulped again, blush spreading to the tips of his ears. _Keith Kogane is asking you out on a fucking_ _ **date**_ _. Answer! Quick, before he changes his mind!_

And so, he did: "Y-Yes! Of course!" he exclaimed.

A date was the perfect idea, the perfect occasion to open up to each other and learn a thing or two about one another.

"Now?" Keith asked, hands already reaching to cover the painting and put away the brushes. Lance blinked.

"Wait, _now!?_ " he asked.

Keith raised an eyebrow, lip twisted into a small grin, "Yeah…? Do you have something better to do?" he asked.

"So," He said, "Be ready in ten. And don't overdo it! Something simple and comfy." He added, knowing Lance had a knack for overdressing.

He swallowed harshly and nodded his head aggressively before bolting out of the balcony and to his room.

 _He asked me out on a date!_

Once inside, his hands flew up to a pair of heated cheeks. He couldn't help but squeal, certain Keith could hear him but not having it in him to care.

He was going on a date _with Keith!_

"So… where are we going, exactly?" he asked.

Once Lance had dressed himself in a simple, long-sleeved blue sweater and jeans, Keith had simply gestured for him to follow. They left Raven at Shiro's, and then Keith drove them for _hours,_ it felt like, to someplace God-knows-where.

He laughed nervously after getting no reply, "Uh… Keith? Haha, look. Not to be like _that_ but this is exactly what a serial killer would do." he said, chancing a glance at Keith's profile behind the steering wheel. His hands held onto it gently, a sense of comfort shining through his motions. If there's one thing Lance has learned since living with Keith, it's how good a driver he is. He's never felt unsafe with Keith behind the wheel.

Well, except for now.

Not that he would mind _Keith_ stabbing him, just that the whole idea of blood ruining his clothes and— well, _dying—_ doesn't seem all that appealing.

Keith snorted, "Wow." He said and shook his head lightly, "How lowly do you think of me? Do I need to prove myself?" he asked.

Lance remained quiet.

It wasn't that he didn't trust Keith as a person, he just didn't trust Keith as someone who's violence drowns _him_ out in the moment.

Keith must have noticed his hesitance.

"Seriously?" he asked, hurt evident in his tone, "Do you seriously think I would willingly hurt you?" he asked, turning in quick sessions to glance at his passenger.

He tried swallowing the lump in his throat, "No! No, not like that… I just…" but he wasn't sure on how to continue.

Damn, he's really horrible at talking when time calls for it. Where does all his bravado vanish to whenever the topic turns sour?

He sighed, "I might be a little scared of you." He confessed to a shocked, hurt Keith, "But not of _you_ you; scared of you when you're angry." He tried explaining, hands fiddling with the fabric of his washed-out jeans. His hands were pink and dry from the cold wind outside.

"Jesus…" came Keith's voice, hushed and more for himself than Lance.

"I'm so sorry…" he finally said, biting his lip. He couldn't help but stare for a moment. _So entrancing…_

"I'm sorry, Lance, really." He continued, "I guess I need to work on that, huh?" he asked but didn't wait for an answer, "I promise you, though: I would never hurt you. Ever." He said, a sense of finality washing over his words. His brows were drawn, assurance and confidence lingering on his features. Lance smiled.

"I'll take your word for it, then. Bad boy." He said, eyes still locked on his lips. I guess some things are less important to his poor brain, because the anger-issues thing seemed long forgotten.

 _Will he kiss me again?_

"So," he said instead, ignoring the question on his heart, "Where are you taking me, Bundy?"

"What the hell?" he laughed, shocked.

Lance merely laughed in response, "Glad to see you're as into serial-killers as I thought you would be."

Keith groaned in frustration and drove right, into a narrow gravel road, leading into the dense forest. Everything was coated in a thin layer of snow, the path barely visible. _Alright, this does really seem like a fantastic setup._

"It's a surprise." Keith said, voice low.

And surprise him he did.

Right there, up ahead, was a cliff. Far up, overlooking the forest. Judging by their environment, they were most certainly a good way outside Manhattan. Guess it didn't only _feel_ like hours, it truly was, and they passed by like minutes.

 _Because Keith was there with him._

Off in the distance, peeking up from behind white tree-tops, hung the sun, low and glowing like molten lava. It spilled its colors over everything around them. Suddenly, the white canvas below made for a picture-perfect reflection of the sky this time of day. Violets and reds mixed and mingled with each other and left brushstrokes behind, gentle and subtle in the crystal-clear snow.

Lance could do nothing but gawk in awe, his breath caught in is throat.

Keith fidgeted nervously next to him, "I know I seem scary… but really—"

"You're a big softie!" Lance finished, tears now welling up in his eyes. He was certain he looked as red as the sky, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered except the two sunsets right there next to him. The two he could watch and bask in every hour of every day.

"You like it?" he asked, ignoring Lance's outburst.

He was definitely out of his comfort zone; fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, gaze flickering, cheeks a soft pink that blended with the colors outside. Everything was _so bright_ he thought for a second something had transported him into one of Keith's sky-paintings. Suddenly, it made sense— they had been drawn _here!_

Keith had taken him someplace beautiful, someplace unique. He took him to see a place he clearly held close to heart, so Lance couldn't help the tears that followed. Couldn't even bother to wipe them away or hide them.

He was smiling so wide he was sure his face would crack and wrinkle pre-maturely.

Slowly, the gentle painter next to him reached out. A trembling thumb danced over his cheekbones and brushed away the falling tears of pure love.

Yeah, _love…_

"I love you." He said before he could stop himself.

Keith laughed, some of his nerves dying down and getting replaced by a feeling Lance couldn't read.

"Awesome!" he exclaimed, happier than Lance had ever seen him, "You revoked your rejection!" he said, grinning from ear to ear. His eyes shone and sparkled with the light outside, fighting the sun's rays.

Lance was so entranced by it he couldn't even form coherent sentences, so he didn't even try.

With his breath still in his throat he reached out and cupped Keith's cheek, gazed into the prettiest eyes on this planet, and waited for permission. When Keith leaned in ever so slightly, and their lips met for the third time in their life, something inside flickered on and grew so fast and so strong he could feel its heat course through every fiber of his being. From head to toe, everything burned. But the burn was welcome, enveloping, warm in a way only a lover's arms could be. In that moment, with Keith's lips pressed against his, all his worries from earlier seemed stupid.

Had he gone and forgotten how much he loves this silly, silly boy? This overly romantic painter who adores children but hides it all behind a tough, wannabe-gangster exterior? The guy with the leather jacket and a 'Cat-Dad' cup?

A hand danced across his chest tenderly, searching and learning and _yearning_. Screw it.

Mustering up some courage, he parted his lips, waiting for Keith to follow before lapping his tongue around his. A low, soft moan escaped him at the feeling. It was so dangerously intoxicating, sweet in a way nothing else is. He could die happy knowing he made out with someone like this, someone like _Keith._

Keith seemed to have gained courage from his bold invitation, because his hands started roaming, too. They groped at his chest for a moment, before one slid up to tilt his head and deepen the kiss. The other— healthy— hand reached awkwardly around his waist, hindered by the fact that they were still inside the crammed car.

"Keith…" he sighed between wet lips and eager tongues.

His reply was to grab a fistful of Lance's hair and yank his head to the side. The action sent a shiver down his spine and drew a lowly growl out of him as Keith's teeth grazed his skin. Something in the back of his mind tried shaking some sense into him: _He can't leave a mark, you have work tomorrow!_ But Lance promptly ignored its pleadings. _It felt too good to stop._

After teasing him for a hot moment, his lips captured delicate skin and sucked hard. Lance was certain he wasn't breathing anymore, only panting in fragmented hickups.

"Damn, you're sensitive…" Keith whispered against his skin, the sensation sending a wave of chills through his body.

"Shit." He added, more to himself, before biting down at the juncture on his neck. Lance let out a weak shout at the unexpected but very much welcomed intrusion.

"Jesus, Keith…" he panted, hands groping their way under his shirt. Anything he could grab he clawed and pinched and groped at with passion. It only riled Keith up more, who was letting out low growls and moans as encouragement.

Gulping, he dared to reach further down, playing with the button on his jeans, but Keith's hand came down and grabbed his, stopping him.

"Not yet." He whispered, face inches from his, "The date has only just begun. I need you fully capable of walking some more." He said with a smirk spread across pink lips. The low sun outside made his skin glow, a pale canvas.

Lance bit his lip in though. He wanted to go so much further, could feel the tightening in his pants, but caved in with a groan.

"Only if you kiss me again." He whined and closed his eyes.

Keith didn't keep him waiting. He leaned in and granted his wish. Soft against soft, warm against warm, but far too brief. He whined again at the loss and licked his lips hungrily.

"Stay strong, lover boy." He said with a smirk and a wink, adjusting his shirt, before backing away from the cliff.

"You're such a heartthrob, has anyone ever told you that?"

Lance's eyes were glued to Keith's face. His date only smirked in amusement.

"Who would have known Keith Kogane is such a romantic…" he mumbled, embarrassed. His hand was resting snugly against Keith's in the pocket of his biker-jacket, warm and soft. The other remained clenched and lonely in his brown coat, the new one Keith got him a few days before the accident.

They were walking down 5th avenue, watching people walk by, shops decorated in fairly lights and Christmas ornaments. Every store was glimmering and glowing in the colors of the rainbow. Some had animated Christmas displays; Santa Clauses and reindeer spinning and jumping along with the music. All around them was the tempting smell of street food, candy and active bakeries selling out cakes and goodies for the rushing pedestrians. A thin layer of snow coated the street, but the air remained calm.

His breath came out in misty clouds, and his nose and cheeks were chilled and red in a way that warmed his heart. It made him insanely happy, and walking there— with Keith's hand in his— made him forget the things that happened at the hospital, and the never-ending nagging of his own brain.

Bells chimed somewhere in the distance, and the air felt lighter than ever. He took a deep breath and felt the stretch and pull of his skin as a grin spread across his face. With a sigh he looked up at the night sky, at the skyscrapers looming above, listened to the sounds of people talking in a million languages, and felt the warmth of Keith's fingers intertwined with his— and closed his eyes in blissful delight.

He could hear Keith gasp silently next to him and cracked an eye open to look at him. What he was met with was everything he needed to make that moment all the more perfect.

Keith wasn't as enthralled with their surroundings, nor was he interested in the food sold in the bakeries along the road.

No, Keith was looking _at him._

His eyes shone and sparkled and reflected the Christmas displays in a way only _his_ eyes could. This late, when the sun was no where to be seen, they seemed as black as the sky above. Lance felt like he could soar in them, high up somewhere where nothing could touch him, mingling with the stars in the night sky that are his eyes.

"I love your eyes." He said, stopping and turning to look at him fully.

Keith chuckled and looked down, flustered, "We're _so_ gross…" he said, shaking his head, "Because I've been staring at you for a good ten minutes now." He confessed and looked up again, flashing a toothy smile.

"How could you ever think to rob the universe of Keith Kogane?" he asked him, tearful to the point where it shocked them both.

Keith visibly flinched, but his expression remained soft— open.

"Sometimes…" he started, gripping Lance's hand tighter where it was still nestled in his pocket, "Sometimes you just need to find something worth looking for." He said, "Sometimes you just need to find that something that'll be sad if you leave, that something that you'll make an impact on. I hate to sound cheesy, but you barreling headfirst into my life— _and apartment_ —" they both laughed at the memory, "—was the best thing that has ever happened to me…" he continued, quietly.

His cheeks were definitely red now, but Keith didn't seem to care about it— face still soft and welcoming. People were walking by, pushing at them every once in a while, and groaning in protest when they remained fixated in place. Surely, they were being severely annoying, but did it matter?

"So, I could. And I did. I did think about it— about robbing the universe of Keith Kogane— because back then I didn't have one, a universe of my own." he took a deep breath and cupped Lance's cheek with his free hand, "But now I've found it, my own universe, and I would never dare to rob it of Me if it claims it doesn't want me to." He said and leaned in.

A soft kiss later— a mere peck— he leaned back and watched what Lance could only describe as him crashing in real time. He was sure Keith could see everything in his eyes.

"Wow…" he breathed raggedly, "Jesus…"

Keith smiled, "Hungry?" he asked and turned to keep walking, tips of his ears giving him away.

"Wait, seriously?" Lance couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up from between his lungs, from someplace warm and soft.

"What? All these smells are making me hungry!" he explained, huffing in his very Keith way, tip of his ears still red.

Lance's other hand found a place to rest on his bicep, ignoring the cold. He leaned into Keith's body, and gripped the hand in his pocket a little harder, a little more desperately.

And that's how their night went.

Keith— ever the gentleman— took him to a cozy little restaurant a little way from the main street, where candles were lit on every table and soft Christmas ballads played from the speakers above their heads. He had offered ( _"No!_ _ **I told you**_ _I'm paying!"_ ) nicely to pay for their meal, which was as wonderful as everything that night.

But they remained seated— Keith even insisted they order some wine— and talked for hours.

He learned so many things about Keith, like how his sisters name had been Ava, and how they had been really close before she passed. He learned that Keith could eat absolutely everything, and how he liked pineapple on his pizza, and how he would die for raven. He learned that his favorite dog breed was huskies, and that he really _hated_ seagulls after one ate his hat when he was seven ( _"The fucker made me drop my icecream!"_ ).

And in turn, Lance told him everything about himself.

He told him about his distaste for country music, and how obsessed he was with Adrien Brody's performance in _The Pianist._ He told him about the time he cried during _Camp Rock 2 (to which Keith laughed in response, fucker)_ and about how he first found out he was bisexual while watching Zac Efron in _High School Musical_ when he was still a kid.

Their night couldn't have gone better, and Lance was laughing and smiling all throughout it. He could have never imagined Keith as even remotely romantic, much less as sappy as he turned out to be. Regardless, he was ecstatic.

On their way back home, their night somehow got even better. A muffled whimpering coming from a lone box by the dumpsters in an empty alley caught their attention, and upon closer inspection they were introduced to beautiful little puppy with the bluest eyes and blackest fur. It looked like an almost completely black husky, small and whimpering but perking up the second Keith's and Lance's faces came into view.

Lance only watched in amusement as Keith melted and fell head over heels for the adorable creature. Without a second thought, he reached out and picket up the abandoned animal. His "goos" and "awes" of appreciation only made Lance giggle louder. People were staring at them, but neither cared.

"I take it you just adopted yet another stray?" he asked.

"I have a talent for it, don't I?" Keith returned.

He smiled and watched as Keith hugged the puppy, its head against his chest, and something inside him swelled to the size of the sun.

"So, what are you gonna name him?" he asked, cheek resting on his hand.

"Cosmo." Keith grinned back.

Keith's knee didn't seem as bad anymore. They had just spent the night walking and talking and running around, trying to find something for Cosmo.

Surely, Keith's knee must be fine now, despite the brace.

Surely. Because he was kneeling between his legs just fine.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, surprised to hear _himself_ say it, "I mean with your knee being all fuc—" he breathed in sharply as Keith's teeth grazed the delicate flesh of his nipple, "B-being all fu-fucked and all…" he managed out before a low moan took over and spilled out between them.

Keith's hands were traveling up and down his thighs, groping at the trembling muscles.

"Never been better." He confirmed, voice a husky low.

Lance shivered in his hands, completely lost to it— so much so that he couldn't even bring himself to care about Keith's knee. _He only had himself to blame, right?_

He's allowed to be selfish sometimes, and Keith seems to agree.

"Keith…!" he gasped out, back arching in pleasure. His un-injured hand was groping his cock through his jeans, sending jolts of pleasure down his spine.

"Please…" he rasped, "Keith…"

Keith's lips left his chest for a moment, "Please what?" he asked, eyes hooded and brimmed with lust.

"Touch me… directly…" he begged, blues locked onto the nightskies above.

He licked his lips in thought, brows pinched, and kept eye-contact with Lance as he unbuttoned his pants and slowly— teasingly so— slid a warm hand inside. Lance keened and gripped fistfuls of fabric. He bit down on his lip, hard, and watched Keith through hazy eyes.

"Fuck…" he said and let his hand slide lower, gripping his balls gently. His hand moved in slow, caressing movements, and the pleasure made him flinch and moan in response.

"Take, take off your… your shirt…" he whispered and reached out to grab at the hem of Keith's black T-shirt, the one that left absolutely nothing for the imagination. Still, Lance wanted to see everything, like that night so many months ago.

"Nothing here you haven't seen already." Keith teased.

At first, the comment flew over his head— too lost in lust to care— but then it slowly dawned on him.

He stopped, "What…"

Keith's eyebrow was raised high, and a lopsided smirk played on his lips.

"Think I wouldn't find out? You're not particularly quiet." He said and watched as realization slowly settled in Lance. An intense heat spread from his groin to his chest and face, all the way up to the tips of his ears.

"Oh my God…" he whispered, "Oh my _God!_ _ **You heard?!**_ " He exclaimed, voice cracking embarrassingly, "You've known all along?!" he asked.

Keith chuckled, "Duh." He said, "I told you so at the hospital, didn't I?" he asked and tightened his hold just a little bit, as if to punctuate his statement— or maybe assert dominance? Lance didn't care.

"Fuck, Keith…" he said, too far gone to dwell on his embarrassment, "And you kept me waiting for so long… you're the devil…" he said, but got cut off by his own gasp as a warm finger circled his hole.

He pulled away suddenly, and reached to strip himself off his shirt. Slowly. _Very_ slowly. So slowly _. Ok, he's showing off. He' showing off_ _ **a lot…**_

Lance could feel himself gaping, practically drooling at the sight before him— all sharp edges, muscles and soft skin. The scar on his shoulder was even more clear now, going down to his pec.

His hand reached out to touch it absentmindedly.

"I'll tell you about it if you're good for me." Came Keith's voice, warm against his ear. Lance groaned and closed his eyes in response, groped at him for a moment, before reaching to strip himself off his clothes in a horny haste.

Keith followed suit and took off the remainder of his attire until he was kneeling between Lance's legs with nothing but a brace around his injured knee. He was as hard as a rock, and _sweet Jesus_ would _that_ be a challenge. The dildos he's used before suddenly paled in comparison.

"You're staring." He said and rubbed Lance's thigh as his other hand reached into his night stand for the lube and condoms.

"Sorry, sorry…" he started, eyes still on the bobbing, dripping cock before him, "You're just… wow…" he said, hesitated, but continued, "Even bigger up close."

Keith let out a soft, rugged laugh in response as he coated his fingers in lube. He rubbed them together a few times to warm it, before lowering his hand to Lance's willing hole.

"You ready?" he asked with the arch of a brow.

Lance only nodded eagerly in response, captivated.

Then he felt the intrusion of a finger entering his body, cold compared to the heat inside him. A dirty, low moan escaped his lips— coming all the way from breathy lungs. Keith got to working him open; nibbling at his skin, sucking marks into his neck and kissing him heatedly all the while searching and moving inside him. After a while another finger joined, and Lance was sure he wouldn't be able to keep quiet. As if to confirm it to him, Keith's fingers found that _perfect_ spot inside and Lance shouted in surprise, nails clawing at his sculpted back.

"Fuck, yes! Yes! There—!" he shouted, lips diving in to suck at his neck and bite into his pale, soft skin.

Keith groaned in response.

It didn't take long for a third and even fourth finger to join the fun, and before Lance knew it Keith was putting on a condom and lining himself up.

Lance could feel the hot tip press against his entrance, felt his vision cloud at the mere thought of being entered.

"Keith… please…"

And Lance saw stars.

He could feel the slight burn of the stretch, the throbbing of Keith's cock inside him. His walls clenched around its warmth and Lance groaned and moaned his name. Every dirty word he could think of, in every language he knew, were yelled out as Keith's pace quickened steadily.

Quickened and quickened until he was plowing Lance into time and space, one hand rubbing his cock in time with his brutal thrusts. He was certain the neighbors would complain but screamed in pleasure all the same. Screamed and begged and wrapped his arms around Keith's shoulders, felt the warmth and stickiness of flesh on flesh, listened to the obscene sounds which filled the room. Lance had seen his fare share of gay porn, and was no newbie to his own pleasure, but to hear and see and _be_ like this with Keith was something he could have never even dreamt of. His cheeks were hot and flushed, equal parts exertion and embarrassment but mostly— dominantly— pure happiness.

Keith— being the quick learner that he is— didn't take long to find his sweet spot and continued to then ram right into it every time until Lance came undone in his arms, panting for a breath he lost so long ago. Keith came shortly after, grunting and moaning his name and slapping his hips against him with brutal force.

He fell on top, limbs like jelly, and panted heavily into Lance's shoulder.

They lay there, panting and catching their breath for a moment, before Keith pulled out and off. With trembling hands, he took off the used condom and tied it, throwing it in the bin by the desk.

Lance rolled over, lost in the after-high, and placed his head on his chest. It rose steadily. If he listened closely, he could hear the beating of his heart, rhythmic and comforting.

"Wow…" he breathed.

Keith laughed, and the reaction made his chest bop up and down with Lance's face pressed to it. His lips spread into a grin so wide he felt like crying out in pure happiness. Everything felt so good, so perfect and unreal.

"I didn't actually think anal could feel that good." He said into his chest.

Keith's chest bopped again, and Lance decided to laugh along.

"What?!" he asked, rising on his elbow to look at Keith's laughing face— all toothy with his eyes squeezed shut and his nose scrunched up, hair a tangled mess around his head. His heart swelled.

"What's so funny…" he asked, lost in the sight below.

"Nothing," Keith wheezed out, "You're just being you and I realized how much I love that." He said.

Lance couldn't help himself. He leaned down and kissed him hard, passion seeping out of every pore on his body.

He leaned back once more and looked at him.

"I think I've got it bad for you, Kogane." He whispered.

Keith beamed at him, hands reaching to wrap around his waist.

"Likewise, McClain." He said.


	15. Chapter 15 - Next Stage

_It's the heart afraid of breaking that never learns to dance.  
It's the dream afraid of waking that never takes the chance.  
It's the one who won't be taken who cannot seem to give,  
And the soul afraid of dying that never learns to live._

Quickly, their gathered family of strays had grown from four to five. Before his very eyes a fifth, fluffy member had crawled (or pawed) his way into their home, dirt-drenched paws and all.

To be fair, he couldn't complain. More specifically: there was nothing to complain about as he lay on their shared couch, squashed between a snoring, black husky and his equally as black-clad owner. Red lay draped over his lap, his head nuzzled in the space where Keith's and Lance's thighs met distractingly. The damned thing had finally warmed up to him, it seemed.

He was still new to the whole romance-with-Keith thing, to be completely honest, which was strange— since Keith was the one with abandonment issues.

Or perhaps that's not the case at all. Perhaps the title is rightfully Lance's.

Those thoughts never left the enclosure of his mind, and that alone was what made his head too heavy for his body. Luckily for him, a broad shoulder was placed close enough for his heaving thoughts to lean casually against, something which his heart seemed more than eager about where it rattled his ribs and pricked at his skin.

As usual, though, Keith totally read him.

"What, too heavy to carry or to hot to not?" he asked in reference to Lance's not-so-casual, casual lean.

He hid his flaming cheeks in the crook of his boyfriend's neck— much to his heart's delight, which jumped happily at the scent that graced his senses.

"Shut up, dipshit." He grumbled against flaming skin and the entrancement of a burning forest, "You're just as weak for me." He whispered.

A hand traveled from the back of the couch where it had been draped lazily behind his head, to the small of his back. There, it rubbed in gentle, smooth circles. Keith didn't give him the pleasure of a response, at least not verbally. Luckily for him, Lance had learnt during his stay in the Kogane residence that Keith is a man of few words who speaks with his heart and hands rather than his mouth.

Lance felt more home than he ever had in his old house. There, in the arms of the most amazing person he'd ever met, surrounded by enough fluffiness to last him a lifetime, enveloped in warmth and clothed in love— he felt completely, wholeheartedly at home. No place on Earth could compare to it, and no pleasure in the universe could buy it. This was Lance's and only Lance's to live, to breathe and to relish in.

That is until a certain— less hairy but just as fluffy member tiptoed into the living-room, fingers entangled in front of her shirt in a nervous mess. She fidgeted for a moment, searching for the right words, before speaking:

"Keith…"

The man in question hadn't noticed her arrival, it seemed, and neither had he noticed the quiet name that had followed, for he was completely fixated on the TV in front of them.

He elbowed his partially-deaf boyfriend, who grunted and frowned at him in annoyance.

"What was that fo—"

"Maybe I should learn sign language." He interrupted, "You sister needs her older brother, apeshit." he said with a nod in the direction of the hallway where a shy little Raven stood waiting.

She hesitated for a moment longer, now that Keith's attention was fully hers, before making up her mind.

"Can— can I talk to you?" she finally asked, "Alone…?".

Few things surprised Keith Kogane.

Even fewer things _had_ ever surprised said man.

Naturally, nothing about his little sister ever surprised him. Not then, not now. Or, so he thought.

Raven was simple to read— she was only a child, after all, and if there's one thing Keith's good at it's reading the mood of others— especially when they're still too young to know to hide it. Sure, he's not the best at addressing it, but he's damn good at _noticing things._

His little sister really liked outer space, and dragons. She had a strange obsession with mustard, and despised broccoli— unless you put mustard on them. Her favorite thing to do was to annoy the life out of Keith, and her overall strategy for getting what she wants was to pull at the strings moving his heart. She really took a liking to Red, and with that Cosmo, so it's fair to say that she loves animals.

Naturally, he believed he knew everything there is to know about Raven, but it seems he forgot a crucial aspect of raising children— they grow.

They grow, and grow, and grow so quickly that you don't even notice it. Amidst the hectic chaos that is his life, he somehow, somewhere forgot to dedicate every thought and action to Raven. Somewhere along the way a lanky, Cuban twink preoccupied every square millimeter of his flawed mind.

So, as they sat down on the bed he made her long ago— when she was still only a little girl, _his_ little girl— he felt strangely tearful in the growing panic. Had he gone and done the exact thing his father did to them? Had he managed to ruin her trust in him, her undying devotion? Was she disappointed? Depressed? He's fairly certain there is such a thing as childhood depression, right? When did he forget about the one reason he decided to stay, all those years ago?

 _When did he forget his princess?_

"Is everything OK, princess?" he tried when no words left her lips, "You can tell me if you're sad, or if I've done something bad." He tried assuring her.

But her lips remained a thin line, and her fingers clenched tightly the fabric of his shirt-sleeve. She wouldn't meet his eyes, and that alone set every fiber of his being ablaze. _Why won't she look at him? It really is him, isn't it?_

"Is it something I've done…?"

Nothing, then a shake of her black locks. Her bangs fell into her eyes— bounced around— shielding them in a way so familiar to him that he felt like kissing every freckle on her puffy cheeks.

He'd never been good with comforting people, but Raven had always been an exception. Raven _had to be_ an exception. When it came to Raven, that was his _sole purpose,_ his job above all. So he put a comforting hand over her shaking, clenched fist where it pulled the fabric of his shirt. The quivers calmed enough for him to pry her fist off him. Gently, slowly, he put a hand in her hair and carded through entangled oceans of soft, strawberry-scented strands.

"Rave," he started, voice a hushed and raspy breeze, "You can talk to me."

Her violet blues met his, then. Slowly and behind rows of black, but they lifted, nonetheless. He gave her his softest, warmest smile and waited patiently for a response, grabbing her shaky hand as he did.

She took a slow, stuttering breath before speaking:

"Is—is it weird for me… to like girls?" she asked.

Keith's vision tilted, and his heart hammered away so fast he was certain she could hear it as it knocked against his bones from within. _How stupid does a person have to be to not notice?_

And yet he'd sat there, proudly proclaiming to himself that he does, in fact, have a talent for noticing things. And _yet_ he failed to _notice_ what had been so open and clear all along.

 _Raven likes girls._

All air had left his lungs, and he became keenly aware of her building panic in response to his sudden stupor. He willed his voice and rationality to come back to him, to help him guide his little sister through what could be one of the biggest moments of her life.

"Rave, princess, of course it's not weird! Nothing about it is weird or strange." He said and firmly fixed his gaze onto hers, held her chin in his hand to make sure it remained where it should.

"Don't let anyone ever tell you otherwise, you hear me? There're all sorts of nasty people out there, and many of them won't like you because of this, but you have to promise me that you'll never let them change you. Or hurt you. Your love is nothing but _beautiful,_ so don't you dare ever let anyone tell you otherwise. You hear me?"

It felt as though he was speaking to himself; a past self. The curtains over her eyes, hiding expanses of violets and blues, and only hinting at a pale vastness littered in the smallest of freckles— made him strangely nostalgic. Emotional, even. It was as though he'd been blessed a time machine, and somehow managed to hurl himself to a time long ago. A time when _he_ needed to hear those words more than anything.

His hand was holding onto hers so firmly he thought she might yelp in pain, but Raven's eyes only filled with tears, and her lips shook as he breathed out a broken: "I promise."

He took a deep breath, eased his grip, and continued the spilling of his heart's contents to a past, broken boy:

"There is absolutely nothing wrong with you, Rave. Girls are awesome, boys are awesome. Both or neither, it doesn't matter. You're you. You're Raven. The girl who's just _a little_ too obsessed with magical robots and mustard."

The silly little joke earned him a delighted, snotty giggle from her.

"I'll always love you no matter what, and I'll always have your back. I'm not always great, and I know I'm kinda sucky sometimes, but I swear to you that you can always talk to me about anything, OK? Whether it's about girls or space robots or mustard. I'm always here, Rave, so if you ever need me to beat someone's ass you know where to find me."

Her face broke into a toothy laugh.

He knew how much his swearing made her giggle, and right now said giggles were much needed. He _needed_ her to understand every word, to remember every promise, because he didn't intend to break them anytime soon.

"Thanks." She said, sniffling and wiping her nose with the sleeve of her shirt— which earned her a light smack on the head from Keith, who was (regretfully) on laundry duty for the week after losing an unfair game of Mario against Lance (and— again, _unfairly—_ Hunk).

"I love you." she sniffled.

"And I love you, too." He said, sniffling dramatically as well. She swatted his arm lightly because of his teasing and pouted dramatically when he stuck out his tongue in response.

 _And he really, truly meant it. He does, really, truly love his little princess. Always had, always will._

Their weeks slowly eased into a familiar, agonizing flow of torturous consistency. Every day the same story, in and out. Eventually, though, the greatest angel to have blessed the earth Lance walks upon decided to aid in his suffering and add a switch in his routine.

"I've always hated having a mundane lifestyle. I wanna go on adventures and travel and _do stuff!_ " He groaned, complaining still after what seemed like not long enough and far too long at once.

It had been days since he last saw his friend, and equally as long since he enjoyed himself properly. His days were packed to the brim with work, finding time to meet his siblings, spending his nights with Keith and Raven and trying his best to remain afloat in terms of exams and assignments.

To make matters worse, he kept growing needier and needier of Keith's company by the day. He was just... never home, and when he was, they spent their time watching a movie and eating takeout. Worst thing is that he can't even blame him for it— the guy has a lot of work to do. He knew that. _He knew that the day he met him and yet…_

And yet he misses him so insanely.

"And Keith's not giving me attention." He pouted, his mind arguing against the statement. But his heart held on. He propped his chin on his knuckles, resting his elbows on the table between them.

Hunk's spoon sunk into the soft creaminess of the cheesecake, his coffee long forgotten and cooling by the window.

"Sounds like you're just clingy and he's way too anti-social to handle you 24/7." He mumbled out between bites, mouth full and cheeks puffed. His eyes remained on the dessert, not sparing him the slightest glance. He swallowed slowly before finally looking up, continuing:

"What's up with you two, anyways? How are things going?" he asked as casually as he could, but he could sense the underlying, probing of the unspoken words which hung heavy in the air.

He sighed and rubbed his face far too harshly before letting his hands fall on the table with a loud 'thud', nearly knocking their drinks over in the process.

"Why are you _so worried_ about me being with Keith?" he returned, jumping straight to the elephant in the room.

The big guy picked at his cake, hesitant and distant and completely different from the happy-go-lucky Hunk Lance is so familiar with. Something was weighing heavily on his friend's mind, and he had an inkling suspicion that it had to do with Lance's new main interest.

He finally caved.

"I just…" he started, eyes following the movement of his spoon as it scraped away a few crumbs and the remining cream off his now empty plate, "I'm just worried, OK? I don't know, Lance. He has a kid. A real, actual, kid. Sure, I know it's his sister, but he's still a legal guardian to a _child_ , Lance." He paused, finally willing himself to meet his friend's gaze, "I'm just scared that you'll end up hurt. That he'll break up with you or move or something, for Raven, and that you'll end up right where this mess started. I mean, if it weren't for him maybe you would have had a home right now. Parents."

Something in him clenched its vicious claws around Lance' heart, squeezed so tight the air left his lungs. But he tried to remain indifferent and listened instead for what Hunk had to say, despite the pain those words caused. _It's not his fault, he doesn't understand. It's OK. He only means well._

His thumbs danced nervously around each other as he continued:

"I couldn't bear to ever see you like that again." His eyes hooded, gaze fixated on something right next to Lance's head, "You're still in school— he's a working adult with two jobs and a kid. No wonder you feel like he's not giving you any attention…" he trailed off, "I don't know if any of this makes sense. All I'm saying is that I want you to think carefully before making any more drastic decisions. I know how much you love your family, and I know you felt like you had to choose between them or Keith, and it's clear as day that you chose him and—"

"I didn't choose between Keith over my family, Hunk." He interrupted and watched as his friend flinched, startled by the clarity of which he spoke up. His eyes found Hunk's and captured them, made sure they stayed locked on his and waited for the wave of nausea that had washed over him to pass.

It was important that he fully understood everything Lance was about to say, everything that's been weighing heavily on his heart for so long. Everything that meant _everything_ to Lance.

When he was first thrown out, nothing in the world seemed enough to cheer him up. He was lonely, scared, tired. So, so tired. Tired of everything, of the air he breathed and the cement its locked inside of. Every street, every corner felt dead and empty— like a rendered reflection of his inner turmoil; his heart as it slowly but surely crumbled in his chest.

But then he met Keith again, and suddenly everything seemed a little brighter. The air seemed lighter, and through the cemented cage-bars he could glimpse a setting sun on the horizon— so strikingly colorful, so vibrant and enchanting that it took his breath away.

You know how when the sun sets, and the stars start showing, but the sun is still low in the sky? That's what it looked like, and it coated the blocked buildings in the colors of the rainbow. The last rays kissed and breathed on his skin, warmed him the same way summer afternoons in the backyard did when he would swing lazily on the home-made, wooden swing and watch his siblings play. His father would stand by the back-door and barbeque— speaking animatedly with the other adults. Occasionally, his mother's head would poke out the window to his left and hand him a new platter of mouth-watering wonders.

That's what Keith felt like, but more.

He felt like that, but distant. Like the sun had set too much and his father had gathered the dirty dishes, his mother had turned on the faucet and started humming a radio song as she cleaned grease and ketchup off their plates, and his siblings had all stumbled back inside on his grandma's calling. The moon was rising on the other side, and the stars were blinking awake in the lilac expanse, and the warmth of the day lingered and mingled with the chilly night-wind.

That's exactly what Keith felt like, looked like, talked like. He _was_ the family he'd lost. For the price of one he earned both.

 _Keith was the twilight of a summer night._

So, curse him for falling before his brain even understood what was happening. Curse him for finding a distraction, a coping mechanism that brought him endless joy and laughter and _so much warmth._ Because, few folks know this, but Lance's favorite aspect of summer were never the sunny mid-days on sandy beaches, as much as he loves the ocean; Lance's favorite aspect of summer had always been the closures, the twilights with the dancing skies and flickering stars and lazy naps out on the beach, swaying gently in his ocean-blue hammock.

He took a deep breath and was surprised to find that he didn't even have to. His lungs were filled, ready to spill what his heart had held on to for so long, and his mind and vision felt clearer than ever before.

"Hunk," he started and reach a hand out to grab Hunk's, bigger and darker than his, "I chose my life." He said.

"I chose myself. I chose my happiness, my freedom, my love. I chose something that was never a choice in my parents' eyes. I chose the painful option, yes. I lost my family along the way, and made something inside of me crumble, and it hurt so bad I thought I was dying. But I never did it for Keith. I never went into this not knowing about Raven, or about his life."

He felt his lips stretch out into a bittersweet smile, soft and warm and open. He could feel how vulnerable he probably looked and willed the tears away. This was no time to cry.

"It hurt so much, and it still hurts, but it hurt before it even happened. It hurt for years. It hurt through childhood and into adulthood, during family discussions and arguments on television in the evening." He could hear the cracking in his voice but refused to so much as falter. Hunk's eyes were fixated on him, waiting for the words about to surface.

"Hunk, I made the right choice. You might think of me as stupid for it, reckless or even heartless, but I did it out of love for _myself._ I never did it for Keith, or you, or mom, or dad, or anyone. I did it for _me,_ and I need you to understand that."

Hunk seemed on the verge of crying, but the tears clouding his hazel eyes refused to fall. They remined where they sat.

"I love him, Hunk." He confessed and felt as something invisible but so, so heavy lifted off his chest.

And suddenly, he could breathe again. The bittersweet smile morphed into a wide grin, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. He could feel every muscle in his face as it worked, felt the tension in his skin around his upturned lips and squinted eyes.

"I'm so, so in love, and I don't care if it hurts. I don't care if he barely has time for me— he's trying, and that's all that matters. He writes to me as often as possible, he gave me a home and an embrace when I was left to rot. He cared for me when my world crumbled and smiled when I came to visit at the hospital." His hand tightened its grip on Hunk's hand, "And I love him for it, despite my empty complaints." He said.

"I don't think you'll ever understand what it's like to live as someone else. To be refused and abandoned by the people you love simply because you love someone you're not supposed to. So, I won't blame you for your words, but I want you to know that I hope you never say such things again. And if I end up hurt and heartbroken, be there for me. Help me up again like every time, Hunk. That's all you need to worry about. Leave the rest to me."

And with that, as if on cue, a single bright ray of sunshine found its way to their window and reflected off the glass and onto Hunk's shocked expression. The warm glow of the setting sun and the goodbye-rays brought him out of his trance. He flinched and squinted, a hand rose to block out the sun and watch it as it set.

This far into the city, the horizon was a difficult view to find, but the location of Hunk's apartment gave them a perfect view of a setting sun in the distance, between rows and rows of glass windows and gray buildings. It sunk lower for each second that passed and left behind it a purple trace and the smallest of stars beginning to sparkle against the competing light-pollution of the city.

Hunk's hand fell to the table, but his eyes remained glued to the view outside their window. Lance could see his chest expand, his hands tremble, and his eye glisten with tears as he spoke:

"I'm sorry, I think I get it now." He said.

Some days later they receive an invitation to an outing from Shiro, who seems much too anxious for a simple night-out with friends and family.

But he doesn't think much of it, shrugs and finishes tying his tie— bright blue against a pale grey and a slightly darker grey suit. Shiro specified that they come dressed appropriately. Only time could answer why, but their assumption was that it was some fancier restaurant they were visiting.

Next to him— staring intently at the bow around his neck— was Keith. A frown was etched so deeply into his forehead Lance swore he could visibly see him age with every crease. As thick and black as they are, arched even without the expression, they cast ominous shadows on his eyes and stick to his eyelashes— long and curled upwards.

 _Damn you, Kogane._

"Having trouble with the forced attire my fine gentleman?" he asked teasingly, one eyebrow shooting upward and his lips curling into half a smirk.

Keith only growled in frustration, clicked his tongue, and ripped off the unfortunate, red fabric. It landed in the sink and got wet in the process. But Keith was not done. His sudden abuse of the bow didn't seem enough, so his hands went up to his collar and unbuttoned the first four or five buttons— exposing soft, pale collarbones and the upper part of a toned chest in the process.

 _Jesus Christ, Kogane!_

The familiar, crawling, prickling feeling in his cheeks and ears begged him to abort from his current predicament, and pounce for their front door, but his feet remained firmly planted on the spot right next to his worst and best sexual fantasy.

He was probably gaping, judging by the tiny drop of drool that tickled at the corner of his mouth and threatened to spill over. His hand flew up quickly to brush it away, but his sudden movement must have startled the other man because the next moment he was _looking at him._

His eyes shamelessly scanned his face: from lips, to eyes, to ears and neck and back to lips before once more settling on his eyes. A snarky, twisted smirk slowly crept its way onto his face, and his hands sneaked their way around his waist— pulling him flush against that exposed chest. _Keith really knows how to make black look insanely sexy._

"Hi." He breathes, eyes falling to his lips again, baring rows of bright, white teeth to Lance whose voice had been lost somewhere along the way.

"Hi!" he manages to squeak out.

Keith's hand travels down to his ass where it rubs and kneads at the flesh slowly, teasingly, before traveling upwards and over his chest before finally settling on his jaw— right below his left ear.

Suddenly the air in the bathroom isn't enough, and his breaths come out ragged.

"Rav—"he starts but gasps as Keith's lips capture his own, hungrily, "Raven might hear…" he tries again, pushing lightly at Keith to give himself air to speak. Keith pouts at that, before letting his hand once again fall to his waist, their hips flush against each other.

He tries his hardest to stop the obscene moan that threatens to escape at the sensation and settles instead on focusing on something less sexual— like Keith's eyes.

Which is a problem, because Keith's eyes have an entirely different effect on him. The heat which first pooled below his navel travels, expands upwards and fills his chest, his face and neck. Everywhere his hands touch Lance his skin stings as though he'd been burned. And maybe he had, because the fire in Keith's eyes is unlike anything he's ever witnessed before.

Something in their depts is so captivating, entrancing, that he can't help but remained glued to the figure holding him for dear life.

"Keith…" he breaths once again, eyes falling to a pair of soft, pink lips. _He wants to kiss him so bad._

So, he tries, but fails. Because next minute Keith's is pulling away from him and walking out the door with a delicate and tasteful sway in his hips.

 _I love you, Kogane._

The dinner goes as well as he thought it would: horribly.

Everywhere roams chaos. People are speaking out of turns, interrupting each other, and fumbling over sentences and topics alike. Half are too anti-social to function at such a gathering, and the other half are either dead-drunk or tipsy enough for their outgoing personality to morph into annoyance in its purest, most concentrated form. Unfiltered and raw.

Either way, everyone is having fun.

It had been a while since they'd all gathered for reasons that weren't tragic or downright depressing, and they were for once all on the same wavelength. No bad blood, no petty assumptions. Just a group of individuals, _friends,_ bonding once more.

Everything was going fine, they were having fun. Keith was slowly getting more and more drunk— talking animatedly to a flushed Hunk and a confused Pidge. His jeans were clinging to him in all the right places, and despite Lance's persistent insistence he refused to wear his bow and opted instead for being the _Sex Dream_ of the evening. Surely enough, before they'd even started, some college girls had already swarmed him. Lance had never been happier to have friends like the ones he was blessed with.

In the middle of their festivities, Shiro rose from his seat— a glass in hand and a small, dessert spoon in the other.

His hand shook as it held tightly onto the wine glass, and his spoon-occupied one didn't seem too far behind. A deep flush was settling into his features, and Lance could tell from experience that it wasn't the alcohol. His breaths seemed ragged and uneven, and his eyes kept flickering back to Matt sitting next to him.

Suddenly, without warning, he took a deep breath and steadied himself before lowering the glass and spoon, pulling his chair out, turning towards a confused Mat, and getting down on one knee.

As if on que, everyone in the restaurant began hooting and cheering— eagerly waiting for one of them to speak, but neither did. Neither had to. Between them was a bond so strong, so emotional and deep, that Lance _swore_ he could physically see it.

Shiro remained quiet, panicking so clearly below his tough exterior. Matt's face was that of utter confusion for a solid three seconds, before his face broke into a grin and his eyes watered.

"Dammit, you totally beat me— me to it." He hickuped, tears now streaking his rosy cheeks. His hands went up to rub at his eyes harshly, and the audience (along with Shiro) all held their breath.

Slowly, agonizingly, his hand reached out. Gently, two fingers picked up the ring and placed it on his ring finger. It glistened brightly for a second as he spoke, the silence remaining.

"Yes." He said, and that was all that had to be done.

A dam broke, and the entire local erupted into screams and cheers of happiness and delight as a swooning Matt was scooped up by a still trembling, shaken Shiro.

Lance remained standing, fists clenching and unclenching, and a blush creeping its way onto his already rosy cheeks. In that moment, as he watched the ring on Matt's finger sparkle in the chandelier light, and the brightness of Shiro's suit shine dimly— flushed between two bodies holding each other so tightly, so desperately—s he feared they might break.

But they didn't. They spun and spun and spun until even Lance felt dizzy, and yet Shiro's steps didn't so much as falter. His previous nerves were melting away right before Lance's eyes, and his hands roamed the expanse of Matt's quivering back in soothing motions. A gentle laughter rumbled out from the depths of their chests, and suddenly it felt as though he was intruding on something insanely intimate. Suddenly, he felt like there was no one but Shiro and Matt, and Lance shouldn't be there.

It was as if they didn't care about a single thing other than their now-fiancé. Not even the angry, grumbling couples leaving and mumbling harassment and indecencies were worth so much as a fraction of their time— of their time _together._ Right there in each other's arms, where they belong and will remain until the end of days. It was painfully beautiful, truly.

Then, a burning balm slithered its way onto Lance's, and five calloused fingers intertwined with his own.

A blooming in his chest brought him out of the scenery before him and turned instead his head towards the man standing next to him with his hand in Lance's. His hair was tied up in a low ponytail, and it reminded him of a distant beginning. _How he wishes it would never end._

The smile which crept onto his face was in no way unwelcome, but in every way unexpected and hesitant. That is, until a mirrored expression welcomed his, and a pair of lips surged forward to capture his in something more than just a kiss.


	16. Chapter 16 - Stranger Danger

_Take me to the rooftop;_

 _I wanna see the world when I stop breathing, turning blue._

 _Tell me love is endless, don't be so pretentious._

 _Leave me like you do._

 _If you need me, wanna see me, better hurry 'cause I'm leaving soon._

As seasons passed, and their relationship grew and developed, so did their living conditions.

A year in, Keith got promoted and earned with that more time to spend with him and Raven. Veronica still visits often, and her and Raven have really taken a liking to each other. Lance was happy for once in his life.

Until he one day, two years in, decided that their apartment needed a major cleaning.

So, he went around the small space one a day when he had no class and the two grumpy babies he loves so dearly left him to his own devices and started dusting, scrubbing and throwing out trash.

He went around the place, humming a tune from the radio in their living room, and delighted in how… domestic it all felt. Completely tuned to his task, he almost threw away the crumbled, yellow-tinted letter at the bottom of a bookshelf, below multiple fat hardcovers. He read the front text out loud:

 _To the light of my life, to my son,_

 _Keith, this is for you._

 _Read it when you feel you're ready._

He stiffened where he stood, palsied all of a sudden. Cosmo strutted quietly through the living room all the way over to Lance's trembling form and nosed with interest and a low, quiet whine.

 _A letter from Keith's mother._

What was the right thing to do here? Throw it away? Burn it? Keep it for himself? Give it to Keith…

Yeah, maybe that's the only sane option.

To give it to Keith…

Yeah.

They were sitting on the couch like so many nights before. Nothing was out of the ordinary. On the contrary, their day had been rather uneventful and dull. Lance had argued that they needed a vacation; ("Cuba, dude! It's beautiful!") he'd said. Keith agreed, though they would first have to wait for summer break if they intend to bring Raven—and possibly Veronica—with them.

He'd agreed, and so there they were. Nestled close to one another. Breaths falling in even, synchronized relaxation. He felt unstoppable, like he could conquer the world. As long as he could keep Lance right there in his arms where he belonged, surrounded by all the things he loves—as few as they are.

Then, as if fate itself had heard him—it came to test him. A loud knock followed by a muffled curse and the ring of their bell broke through their serenity.

"Shiro?" Lance mumbled tiredly, his hair standing up funnily on the side where his head had rested against Keith's shoulder.

"No…" he started, in thought, "Can't be Shiro." He said and begrudgingly got up as another chime sounded through the apartment. Cosmo barked loudly at the second ring.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" he yelled to the insistent _freak_ on the other side. Who was mad enough to ring on someone's doorbell in the middle of the night?

Then a thought struck him. _What if something had happened to Shiro? To Matt?_ The thought gave speed to his steps, suddenly urgent and panicked. He flung the door open to reveal…

…a girl. Perhaps a decade or so older than himself though youthful in every way. Her long, beach-blonde hair was falling out of her tight and once-neat braid, and her big blue eyes widened as they ascended to meet his. She was shorter than him, and athletic to the build judging by her strong legs and the spring in her movements. Alas, she merely stood and stared with her mouth agape.

"Uh…" he started, scratching the side of his neck where strays tickled, "May I help you…?" he said, hesitant.

Something clicked on in her head, it seemed, for she straightened suddenly and physically shook herself free from the confides of her sudden stupor.

"Uh, yes! Yes! Hi! I'm Romelle. You must be Keith, right?! Gods, you look _soooo much_ like your mum!" she chuckled.

Her voice was high pitched and screech-ier than he assumed it normally was. He flinched and backed away from her outburst, ears now ringing. From behind him, a quiet and hesitant voice called out to him.

"Keith? Who is it…?"

Lance's appearance must have surprised her, for she fell silent. _He should remember to thank Lance personally for saving his ears and sanity._

Still, she cleared her throat and tried again, now with her hand outstretched towards him. Only now did he notice her ragged clothes, the humongous backpack on her small shoulders, and the muddy boots on her feet. _A traveler?_

"I'm your mum's best friend and comrade." She said, evenly, and steeled her gaze onto Keith's with newfound determination.

Keith only stared back, his hand clasping her perhaps too roughly, and couldn't utter a word. From behind him, Lance audibly gasped and grabbed onto his shirt.

 _His mom's friend… comrade…_

"I—I don't… I don't understand. Why are you here? Why now? How did you find me?" the questions poured out of him, all thoughts of emotions drained from his overworked mind, "Is she still alive? Is she well? Where is she now?"

Romelle lifted a hand to clasp his shoulder and silence him into listening to her before speaking.

"Could I, perhaps, borrow you shower and sum' dry socks first? I have so much to tell you and me toes are wet!"

After she'd cleaned, dressed and been offered a cup of hot chocolate by Lance, she began her story.

As it turns out, when his mother left them, she'd left them for some secret business overseas. What he managed to gather from the flimsy soldier was precisely that: she and mom were soldiers together, fighting the same fight. Before she'd met dad, she'd fought alongside Romelle in a civilian war somewhere in western Russia, mom's birthplace. Some time after Raven's birth she'd been called out but had refused, until one day…

Keith was staring blankly at his whitened fingertips where they gripped his mug of cold chocolate firmly. Romelle continued and told them about hers and his mother's sudden decision to come find Keith. She claims she doesn't know what gave her the sudden change of heart, but whatever the reason she claimed she'd never seen his mother so determined before in her life, and they'd fought in a war together.

She ended her story by telling him about her arrival, her sudden proximity, and how she'd asked Romelle to come greet Keith head on before she did—for she feared he would have never listened if she'd have been the one to knock on his door.

And she was right. Keith would have slammed the door on her face, if he'd have even recognized her. Still, as soon as she'd have opened her mouth and told him who she was he would have flipped his shit, probably hit her, too.

But instead he sat there, crumbling, and watched the milk and chocolate swirl around each other in his cup of cold beverage.

"So, what do you say…" Romelle broke the silence, a hand placed on his trembling shoulder, "Do you think you could at least meet her for some coffee? She has a lot on her heart and she genuinely wants to tell you so many things."

"I—"

"Please, Keith. I know you have it in your heart to at least hear her out."

And so, he sighed and groaned and swallowed drily a few times to remove the clog in his throat, but his walls fell and crumbled the second he felt Lance's gentle hand run through the hairs on his neck.

"Let me think about it…" he managed to whisper; his eyes squeezed shut against the threat of tears. He didn't want to cry in front of this… stranger.

Romelle nodded and wrote down a number on a napkin. She folded it gently and placed it with care in his stiff hands, wedged it in the space between his thumb and the cup.

She left at some point. Her and Lance exchanged a few parting words, he heard them, and then the door shut, and in came Lance, and he heard Raven's worried, sleep-drunken voice from the doorway, and he heard Lance's reassuring and shooing, and then he felt those warm hands as they took the cup from his trembling hands, lowered his body to the cushions, and covered him in a silken-soft blanket.

And then he fell asleep.

The night bled into early morning, and Lance was still sat by the window. Staring. Sleep seemed like a very distant thing, for his head thumped with the growing panic in his chest. Keith hadn't heard it, he assumed, but Romelle had told him one last thing. One last determinant thing.

" _Are you two dating?"_

" _Yeah…"_

 _She smiled fondly, then._

" _I'm sorry, Lance, but there was one more thing… could you forward that to him?"_

" _Sure. Anything."_

" _Krolia—his mum, I mean, will ask him to follow her back to Russia. She wants to introduce him to the team, show him their homeland, teach him the things she missed ou' on teachin' him…"_

 _She trailed off, and Lance's heart stuck to his ribs._

" _Just… tell'im that. OK? It was nice meeting you."_

He thought back to the letter on the bookshelf and cursed himself for falling for such an unattainable man. Maybe Hunk had been right. Maybe Keith would only end up hurting him. Or maybe he would hurt Keith by never giving him the letter, by never telling him what his mother was planning.

He willed his heart to calm, and his breathing to even itself out, before walking over to the couch and rustling a very tired Keith awake. Red meowed quietly where she laid on his legs, awoken as well.

Keith grumbled half aware, "Lance? Was' goin' on?"

"Keith, I have something to give you, and to tell you, and I want you to please not be mad at me." He started, hands fiddling with the hem of his shirt and the letter in his hands. His boyfriend's gaze followed his and fell on the crumbled, old thing.

"Oh, you found the letter…" he said, matter-of-factly. As if it meant nothing.

"Keith, I want you to go."

"What…?"

"I want you to go to her and listen to what she has to say and _really_ listen, Keith. And before that I want you to read her letter and think long and hard over what you're gonna do." He said, resolute in his decision to give Keith the freedom that would inevitably kill Lance.

"So, here." He said and stretched out his shaky hand with the letter clasped between three fingers. Keith stared for a moment, before furrowing his brows.

"I'm not reading that. I'm not seeing her. I don't need her, Lance! She's gone. She's not important anymo—"

"Of course she's important you dimwit! It's clear as day! Do you think I'm stupid?!" he yelled, heat rising up his neck and chest and burning everything in its way.

"What?! No, I—"

"She'll ask you to leave with her." He blurted, and watched as his eyes widened at that, "You don't know that because you were in too much shock to hear Romelle so she told me before she left." He confessed, all his ugly feelings on open display in front of what was arguably the love of his life.

A dull, aching silence fell between them, and the only sound which filled the room was their ragged breathing and the clock ticking on the wall. Then, warm lips fell on his, and as quickly as they'd arrived, they'd disappeared, and were now instead moving again.

"Alright." They spoke, "I'll read it."

He reached out his hand and took the scrappy thing from Lance's hand, gently and with so much affection that it seared his lungs. He opened it slowly and read it. For the first time in his life, he didn't feel so alone and frightened by it, but of course Lance didn't know that.

Never would.


	17. Chapter 17 - A Letter to my Son

_October 23_ _rd_ _, 2012_

 _Dear son,_

 _I'm fairly certain that you'll be an adult by the time you find and open this letter. The day you do, I want you to know some things I never got to tell you. I want to explain myself, my absence and idiocy and my biggest and worst weakness._

 _And that weakness is you. You with those big, gentle eyes and that beautiful laughter. I'm so sorry for Ava. I mourn her every day, and I will continue to do so for as long as I live. And I'm sorry about Raven, that I went and left her in your hands. I hope you find it within yourself to take good care of her. I wish I could say that I wish I was there in your stead, caring for the two of you, but I would be lying._

 _I couldn't do it anymore, Keith. I gave up. When I first saw Raven, so fragile and young and vulnerable in my scruffy arms I thought I would faint. I was happy, yes, but more than anything I was frightened. Perhaps one day I'll look back and regret this—no, I'm certain I will—but until then I will do what my heart and soul beg me to do. I cannot raise the two of you with the way I am. You'll be better off without me, I'm sure of it. I got to watch you and Ava grow, but what stood out to me was your strength, Keith. You're not a quitter. You never give in or give up. I know that, I'm certain of it! I saw it all the time as I watched you grow._

 _From a distance, perhaps, but I saw you. Don't think for a second that I didn't. Don't think for a second that my heart didn't ache every time I had to leave, every time I missed out on important milestones in your life, every time your father hurt you and your sisters. I hope you'll forgive me someday. Maybe that'll be on your deathbed, or perhaps you'll find it in yourself to forgive me before that day comes. Either way, I truly hope you'll at least try to understand me, Keith. I know you're much like me, and I know you feel things the way I do, so I hope and beg and believe that you and I will meet again someday._

 _Now, I'm running out of time. My train departs in a few hours, and before then I must say farwell to your stubborn, idiotic father. Please, Keith, know that I did this so I could love you without this ugly feeling chaining me inside. Know that I did this to set my mind on things I was meant to do. Being a mother was never my thing, and I'm praying that you'll forgive me for trying before abandoning you. I should have never brought you into this world. Not because I regret you—the contrary; because I love you too much and yet not the right way. I was never a mother to you, or Ava, or Raven. But perhaps one day I could become your friend, your comrade._

 _With love,_

 _Krolia_


	18. Chapter 18 - Gate 34B

They sat next to each other by gate 34B, Keith's exit. Lance had spent the past 30 minutes crying with no end, and Keith had sat there with him and soothed him like so many times before. How crazy is it that we attach ourselves to people so easily?

In front of them, gazing out the floor-to-roof windows, stood Raven with her back towards them. In the reflection on the finely polished glass they could see the faint picture of her face, stretched into an appreciative 'O'. Her first time flying.

She wouldn't stay for long, they'd agreed, only for long enough for Krolia to catch up with her and learn a thing or two about her. Then she'd fly back out to the US with Romelle where Lance would await her return.

Keith's hand smoothed over his knuckles gently, his gaze fixed on the form of Raven as he spoke over the music in the speaker above their heads. This early in the morning, few people sat or laid here and there. Most asleep.

"Will you still be here when I return?" he asked in a hushed, raspy tone.

"Will you return?"

"Of course, you dumbass."

"Then, yes. I'll be here, you dipshit. I always will." He said and rubbed his tired eyes, red and puffy from crying.

"Promise me not to do anything stupid, now, will you? I won't be there to protect you." He tried for funny, but it came out a lot more deprecating than he'd intended. The song above their heads mingled in their silence.

 _Darling, we're both scared  
But where love is, fear won't tread_

"Lance…" he started and wiped away the tears that had rolled down his cheek so tenderly Lance felt like his heart would burst at the seams so carefully sown by those same, pale, calloused hands.

"It's OK." He interrupted him and placed a hand over his where it rubbed softly at his cheek, "I'll be fine. Don't worry about me, alright? You've worried enough for a lifetime. Go. Enjoy yourself. Find your truth. Figure it out. And then, when you feel ready, come back to me, Keith."

 _I guess it's because I just do  
Following heaven's clues  
This is a big mystery  
How I found you found me_

He smiled at him, brightly and whole-heartedly and without a single filter to cloud it. For the first time in a long time he felt completely at home. More so than he had ever felt before in his own house. Not the one in NYC, nor the one in Cuba. This right before him was his home.

From beside them, Raven giggled at something outside. She was pointing and talking but none of them were listening.

Keith took a deep breath, then took his other hand in his. He placed his knuckles to his lips and kissed each one lovingly and slowly and with such care that the dam broke and tears streamed down his cheeks. This time they were silent.

He looked up and into his eyes, and for a moment Lance saw the universe look back at him.

 _And you are changing now  
Your part of me somehow  
And I will never be alone_

"Lance," he said, voice steady as his gaze flickered between Lance's tear-soaked cheeks. He seemed to steel himself, then:

"When I come back to you, may I stay forever?" he asked.

Lance's world seemed to fall off its axis for a moment as his brain tried in vain to analyze those words. His breaths came short, his tears overflowed, and his eyes felt as though they would bulge out of their sockets. He cleared his throat and then, shakily, asked, "What do you mean…"

Keith stopped and waited, and stared right into him, and analyzed every movement, and time stopped around them. The song above their heads was the only melody, that and the announcement over the speakers telling them Keith's flight was ready for boarding.

 _In your darkest hours  
Will I love you still?  
I have and I always will_

"When I come back to you, will you marry me?" he whispered.

"Yes." He whispered back, and later, as he watched him board his flight, he whispered it into the silence around him once more.

"Yes."


End file.
